


It Was Always You

by Malachy



Category: Dawson's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:20:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24721456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malachy/pseuds/Malachy
Summary: Josephine Potter and Pacey Witter have known their entire lives that the only thing they have in common is a shared best-friend. Due to a series of misunderstandings, the two are found in a compromising situation at a local ball and forced to re-evaluate their opinion of each other. A Pacey & Joey romance with a historic twist.
Relationships: Joey Potter/Pacey Witter
Comments: 64
Kudos: 78





	1. The Sins of the Father

**Author's Note:**

> I started watching Dawson's Creek on TV when I was still far too young to be watching that (my parents tried their best). Plus side, since then, I've been obsessed with Pacey and Joey. No joke, I rewatch S3 every few months and cry about why my love life hasn't imitated art. 
> 
> I've wanted to write a Dawson's Creek fanfic for so, so very long but never got the right fit. I'm hoping this one is. It's a little different and combines my love of historical romance novels and Dawson's Creek and I really hope you enjoy.
> 
> The story is set in England. Initially, it was set in the US but I changed because the Civil War would have impacted the timeline and I didn't want to get too dark or detailed. I'm hoping to incorporate all the other characters or versions of them, in this as well, so keep an eye out. There will be eventual smut so expect the rating to go up at a later stage. Pacey calls Joey "Potter" because I understand that he should be calling her Miss Potter, but refuses. 
> 
> Comments (good and bad) are always appreciated :)

Chapter 1

_The Sins of the Father_

_1843_

It was common knowledge around the seaside village of Capeside in West Sussex, that Josephine Lynn Potter’s father had killed her mother.

That particular bit of family history had become a nasty addition to the public record after Josephine’s mother was discovered dead in her bed. Her husband? Found with a knife in his solar plexus near the hearth. Their two daughters? Cowering beneath the same bed linens as their dead mother.

It was a gruesome scene that the small town of too-wealthy society types, who traveled there on holiday for a few months each year, had pieced together quickly. Michael Potter, an immigrant from Ireland, had murdered his beautiful wife (as the Irish are prone to do) and done himself in rather than face the consequences. Josephine was lucky (as lucky as an orphan could be), having been taken in by the Leery family, who had been close friends to her parents.

The situation was best described by society gossip, Christina Livingstone, during her weekly luncheon with the Capeside Book Club. Every Friday afternoon, a dozen of Capeside’s wealthiest ladies gathered in Mrs. Livingstone’s parlor to discuss everything but books.

“The fact is,” Christina spoke to her enraptured audience, “I want to stress that Mrs. Leery is an absolute saint. She plucked those orphans from that terrible situation and gave them both homes. I would have thought twice about it, knowing that Lillian Potter, rest her soul, was a noted heiress. Her family should step in to help the children.”

“They will not.” Mrs. Milo, a woman with more neck than a face, heartily replied. “The true problem is that her father never agreed to the marriage. They likely will not recognize the girls.”

“The audacity, to foist the children on their Christian hearted neighbors,” huffed Mrs. Valentine, a stout, rough woman, in her clipped London accent.

“It gets worse,” Christina said solemnly. She paused to take a long sip of her tea and when she was certain that she had the attention of every ear in the room, she whispered, “the elder girl, Elizabeth, has been traumatized by the event. I have it under good authority that she has to be strapped to her bed each night,” she paused as the other women all gasped in horror.

“She wakes the entire house with her night terrors. Mrs. Leery is beside herself and very concerned for her poor son.”

There was a low hum of shock from the group of women.

“Poor son, indeed,” Mrs. Milo scoffed. “The way she coddles that child is unseemly.”

“What will they do?” Mrs. Valentine interjected, not wishing for thoughts to run to her spoilt son.

“I heard they’re going to send her to an orphanage in Lewes unless Lilian’s relatives claim her.”

“Well, I don’t blame her at all,” concluded Christina. The notion of Mrs. Leery’s unwavering Christianity had long since passed. They had seized on something far more tantalizing. “One can only be expected to do so much.”

“What of the smallest girl? Josephine?” One woman in the back muttered during the lull.

Christine shrugged, “I suppose they’re hoping they’ll want them to take her too. If not, she’ll stay with the family. She’s closer in age to their baby son, so I suppose she’ll double as a playmate.”

No-one spoke for a moment until Mrs. Milo, reminded of her station as the town’s Sunday school teacher, muttered, “that horrible murderous man. I wonder if he ever considered the damage he’d do to those girls’ lives. May God have mercy on them all.”

* * *

_Sixteen Years Later_

_1859_

If there was any benefit to her infamy, Josephine had never found it. Her father, despite his demise, still haunted her like a poltergeist. She saw him in the eyes of strangers and the curious stares of acquaintances. She saw him even now, staring back at her in the ancient mirror fastened to the wall of the Leery attic. Sometimes, what she saw lurking under her dark brown eyes petrified her. It was the same cold apathy she’d been told had run rampant in Michael Potter. She couldn’t shake it, not even now, nearly two decades later.

“Joey? Joey!” Dawson Leery called impatiently from across the room. “Are you done fixing yourself? We’re running out of time here.”

Joey felt her face grow warm, embarrassed that her best friend had caught her daydreaming. “Sorry, Dawson. I found my mother’s old necklace today,” she fiddled with the dainty chain about her neck for emphasis. “I wanted to be sure it is safe so I won’t misplace it again.” Dawson’s eyes traveled along her face and he nodded with a distant understanding. Suddenly self-conscious, she ran her hands along the sides of her serviceable brown dress for good measure, although it would not improve. The frock was ugly to be certain, made worse by the fact that it clashed with her muddy brown hair.

“Well, well, well,” drawled another male voice from behind her. “Even Potter checks her reflection, almost like a real lady.”

Joey frowned immediately, her good mood evaporated. “Even more surprising. A barn animal like you can speak and stand on his hind legs like a real human.”

“Which illustrates my point, Dawson,” Pacey Witter retorted. “Surely you can find another more…” he paused to glance at Joey again. “Comely female to act the part of my betrothed in your little play here. There’s a fine bar wench down at the Ice Box Pub who I think would be willing.”

Joey flinched, not at the insult, but at the reference to Dawson’s latest theatrical effort - a two-hundred and ninety-six-page sprawling melodramatic epic that had taken him months to complete - as _a little play_. Pacey was an insensitive brat and was often ignorant of Dawson’s artistic feelings, trampling them frequently.

To her surprise, Dawson didn’t respond to the quip, he merely continued to stare at the dozens of pages strewn across his lap and the attic floor. “Well, we can all continue to dream that one day I may be able to afford real actors and put everyone out of their misery.”

“Amen, brother,” Pacey smirked. He sauntered over to the makeshift stage - really a few pieces of wood draped with curtains and mangled furniture - and took his place. The three of them had built the set up during the summer when they were twelve. Now, on the cusp of adulthood, Pacey’s tall, lanky frame seemed extremely out of place on stage, almost like the giant in Jack in the Beanstalk. “Well come on, _my love_ ,” he said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “Let’s get this over with. I have an engagement tonight with a more appreciative lady.”

“Zoophilia is still illegal, Pacey,” Joey smiled, confident in the knowledge that he didn’t understand her meaning. Across the room from his seat among his pages, Dawson smiled at her retort and her face burned again, this time for a far different reason.

Pacey, seeing her reaction, snorted. “Can we just move along?”

“Right!” Dawson seemed energized at once. He was often like that, lethargic but prone to bursts of energy for anything related to his craft.

Dawson and Pacey were almost like day and night. Pacey was always moving, rolling up and down on the balls of his feet or fidgeting while Dawson had the uncanny ability to remain perfectly still. The three of them had been working for the last two weeks on the play, as Dawson hoped to premiere a small portion of it at his parents’ upcoming masquerade next week. It was an unspoken understanding between the three friends that Dawson fancied himself something of a hybrid between William Shakespeare and Douglas Jerrold. All that was missing was a wealthy sponsor, which he hoped one of his parents’ guests would be inspired to become after the premiere.

“Now remember,” Dawson held Joey’s arm and positioned her on the stage alongside Pacey. “You two are in love. I need to see the passion, the tenderness.”

“That is a lot to ask, Dawson.”

“For once, I agree with Potter.”

Dawson sighed heavily and ran his hands through his thick blond hair. “You can’t put your differences aside for twenty minutes? You have been arguing for nearly fourteen years.”

“I’m not that good of an actor,” Pacey said.

Dawson wasn’t oblivious to the futility of his plan to force his two best friends to participate in his latest theatrical, which he had described as a modern take on Romeo and Juliet. They were uncomfortable and uninterested and to be frank, he was frustrated playing nursemaid and parting their fights every five minutes. However, he was also desperate.

“I removed the kiss,” Dawson conceded.

“That’s a start,” said Pacey, while Joey nodded vigorously in agreement.

“I’m sorry, Dawson,” she said. “I just cannot kiss this … cretin.” Pacey frowned again and Joey smirked. Pacey hadn’t read so much as a street sign in the last five years and she could always be sure to outsmart him with her vocabulary.

“Let’s just do the final scene one last time, and then you can all go,” Dawson, obviously frustrated, snapped.

It was an obvious dismissal and even Pacey had the decency to look chagrined. He straightened and deepened his voice as Joey stifled a smile - Pacey was a terrible actor.

“I can forgive you anything, Marguerite,” he walked closer to her and placed a staff hand on her waist.

“I don’t need your forgiveness, Leopold,” Joey pushed his hand away far too roughly and moved to her mark at the edge of the stage. “I have made up my mind to leave this terrible town.” She clasped her hands to her chest as Dawson had instructed.

“There’s nothing I can do to change your mind?” Pacey asked from behind her. He was close. So close that his breath tickled the corner of her ear. For some reason, having him nearby made her squirm. She took a small step to her right.

“You could ask me to stay.”

“Look at him when you say that line, Jo,” Dawson said.

Joey swallowed thickly and turned slightly, meeting Pacey’s startlingly blue eyes for the first time. There was a fierce tug from deep within her chest. “You could … ask me to stay.”

It gave her some satisfaction that Pacey looked away first.

“Perfect!” Dawson hollered, moving like lightning to join them onstage. “Well, not perfect, but I almost felt … something.”

He was practically beaming when he draped his arms around both their shoulders. “I know you’ll get it right by next week.”

His optimism wasn’t catching.

It was Joey who broke the silence first, “well, I promised Mrs. Leery I’d pick up some ribbon for her in town, so I should leave before it gets dark.”

In the dark aftermath of her parent’s deaths, being taken in by the Leery’s was one bright spark for Joey. They treated her almost like a daughter. Sometimes, she thought as she watched Dawson fussing over his pages with a pen in hand, too much like a daughter.

“Sure. Pacey, give her a ride into town,” Dawson said distractedly.

Pacey groaned as he buttoned his waistcoat. “Fine, but you don’t yap my ear off.”

Joey rolled her eyes at him. “I’ll go get changed. Dawson, we can go over the play after dinner if you’d like.”

“That would be perfect, Jo. Thank you for that.”

Pacey snorted and Joey threw him a dirty look before rushing down the attic stairs to her small room in the servants’ quarters.

* * *

“I’m curious,” Pacey said later as they made their way into town in his father’s carriage. As the last son of the last son of an obscure Viscount, there weren’t many privileges. The carriage actually, may have been the only one. “What exactly is your grand plan?”

It was a warm day in late August and the sky was bright blue and cloudless. The winding dirt road into town was dotted with wild dandelions, pine trees, and a few rogue squirrels but the path was nearly completely deserted of fellow travelers. Joey was leaning far outside the vehicle, enjoying the way the salty breeze felt on her face.

“I thought you didn’t want me to yap your ear off.”

Pacey ignored that. “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

Joey made an unladylike noise.

“Even the blind can see and the deaf can hear the way you’re throwing yourself at our good friend, Dawson.”

Joey felt her face grow hot. God, she hated Pacey. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Her companion seemed pleased by her reaction. He’d found the knife and now he pressed deeper. “You’re practically siblings.”

“We are not, Pacey.”

“Well, let me rephrase that,” he loosened his hold on the reigns just slightly and leaned back into his seat while tapping his foot erratically on the floor. “Everyone in this town sees you as siblings which might as well be the same thing.”

It bothered her that he wasn’t wrong. It bothered her even more than poor orphan Joey Potter should be a member of the Leery clan when it suited the townsfolk and the Michael Potter’s daughter when it suited others. “Get to your point, Witter.”

“He’s never going to marry you.”

Joey bristled but didn’t respond. _You don’t know that,_ she wanted to say but pride kept her quiet.

“His parents won’t let him even if he wanted to, which, let me stress, I doubt he does.”

Joey turned to look at Pacey, unnerved to find that he’d been watching her the entire time with a smug expression.

“You know so much for someone whose sole romantic experience consists of compromising the school master’s wife every fortnight.”

Now, it was Pacey’s turn to blush, “how…how… do you …w-women aren’t supposed to …”

“Everyone knows it,” Joey said. “Mrs. Jacobs isn’t discreet.”

Pacey chewed his lip. “She loves me.”

“No, she doesn’t. She loves your father’s money,” Joey laughed.

Pacey’s father, John Witter, had made a small fortune breeding horses for London society before moving to Capeside, believing the seaside town would help his gout.

“She’s not like that!” Pacey snapped and Joey realized that he was serious.

“Pacey, she has four children and a husband. What are you two planning to do? Run to the Continent?”

He was quiet for a while, obviously thinking.

“Maybe,” he said finally.

Joey’s reply died on her lips as her eyes caught sight of a large brown horse, lying completely still on its side of the opposite side of the road ahead.

“Wait, what’s that?” Pacey had seen it too and was already pulling the carriage onto the grassy bank.

“It’s another carriage. It’s overturned.”

They were closer now, and Joey could see the outline of wheels partially hidden by bushes.

“Oh my God.”

“Stay here.” Pacey had already dismounted.

She watched silently as he reached underneath the carriage seat and retrieved pistol wrapped in a red velvet cloth. Joey stayed for three full breaths before she leaped down as well, following Pacey as he hissed for her to go back to the carriage. “Are you trying to get killed? It could be highwaymen! Go back!”

She was tempted but told herself that she couldn’t let Dawson’s best friend get killed because of his misguided hero complex. “No!” she said firmly.

He muttered some unkind words under his breath but he didn’t reprimand her again. Soon, they were close enough to the carriage now to hear muffled screams coming from inside.

“The horse looks lame,” Joey said. The poor animal was breathing heavily and neighing weakly.

Her heart was thumping in her chest. In Capeside, accidents were extremely uncommon.

Pacey nodded silently and then carefully tucked the pistol inside his jacket.

“Hello?” He called out, “are you hurt?”

A few moments of quiet passed where the only sounds were their rapid breathing.

“Hello?” Pacey called out again. 

Finally, there came a strangled reply. “Can you hear me?”

It was a woman’s voice. Pacey rushed forward, climbing onto the side of the overturned carriage and pulling at the door. It wouldn’t open, so he tried again.

It was a beautiful carriage, made of shiny, dark wood with an elaborate L engraved on the side in bright, gold foil. As Joey edged closer, she noticed that there was a man in uniform laying in the bushes and mud. He was completely still.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “Pacey, the coachman is …”

“There’s a woman in here, Potter,” Pacey said. He didn’t mention the coachman, although she was sure he’d seen him from his vantage point.

“Take my carriage back to the Leery’s and get help.”

Joey nodded, feeling wooden. Somehow, she pried her eyes away from the lifeless body in the bushes and ran back to the carriage. Fingers trembling, she picked up the reigns and urged Pacey's mare into action. She rode back as fast as she could, so fast that the Capeside country roads blurred into a haze of green light as she pressed on.

* * *


	2. The New Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The arrival of a new woman in the Leery household threatens Dawson's friendships with Joey and Pacey; in more ways than one.

It took four men two hours to finally pry the carriage door open and retrieve the victim. Mitchell Leery, the patriarch of the Leery home, had led the rescue mission himself. Well, this was at least the account Joey received some hours later from the housekeeper, Emma Jones, as they took their dinner in the kitchen.

After her return to ring the alarm, Joey hadn’t been allowed to return to the scene. Instead, she paced for hours in the drawing-room, until Mrs. Leery had finally had enough and sent her upstairs to sort through the guestlist for the masquerade.

Joey and Emma usually took their dinner in the kitchen with the butler, Charlie Todd. Tonight, Charlie had been dispatched to town to find a group of men to remove the mangled wreck of the carriage from the side of the road. As a result, it was just the two women in the gloomy kitchen, eating by candlelight at a small wooden table.

“The lass is about Master Dawson’s age.” Emma had been fully briefed on the day’s events and was delighted to share the information with Joey over steaming bowls of fish stew. “She was talkin’ at first but she fainted after we brought ‘er to the Manor.”

Emma was from Scotland originally and spoke with a thick accent. The way she told the story, it almost sounded like a fantasy novel rather than real life.

“The doctor says she’s in shock but strong, ‘e believes she’ll wake up soon. He didn’t even bleed ‘er. Said there wasn’t no need,” Emma said as she stood and dusted off her skirts. Joey knew she was preparing for her nightly cup of tea.

“What about the coachman?” Joey asked. She still was shaken by the image of the pale figure unmoving in the bushes.

“Aye!” Emma darkened. “He’s in much worse shape. Master Pacey took him into town, ‘e’s lost so much blood the doctor said. I believe they sent for a surgeon from Lewes to come tend to 'im.”

“That’s awful. Still, at least he’s alive. Do they know what happened?” Joey said, shaking her head.

“Seems like they just ran off the road,” Emma shrugged. “Whatever 'appened, ye and Master Pacey were very brave today, everyone’s been saying so.”

“No, I didn’t do anything,” Joey muttered. “Pacey did everything,” she noted with begrudging admiration. “It’s funny, I never thought he could take anything seriously until today.”

“Master Pacey is a good lad,” Emma smiled fondly. “He’s got a good heart.”

Joey almost choked on her stew. “What?”

“Ye two are always pecking at each other like two chickens.” Emma returned with a steaming teapot and poured herself a tall mug of herbal tea. “That’s why ye haven’t noticed.”

“He’s always picked at me. Since we were in leading-strings.”

“Aye, I remember.” But she didn’t seem to share Joey’s annoyance at the memory. “‘ave you given any thought to applying for the governess position in Worthing?”

Joey used her spoon to prod at a particularly tough piece of potato. Suddenly her appetite was lost. Even before she’d turned eighteen last week, Emma had been like the devil in her ear, planting thinly veiled hints that the Leery hospitality, on which she’d relied since early childhood, wouldn’t last forever.

Despite what Capeside thought, Joey wasn’t an adopted daughter - not formally. The Leerys had paid for her education, her clothing and gave her room and board since she was almost a babe, but that was as far as their charity went. When she turned fifteen, Joey became little more than a ladies’ maid to Abigail Leery. She slept in the servants’ quarters, took her meals with the butler and housekeeper, and ran errands for the family at their request. Still, a part of her knew, that had it not been for her closeness to Dawson, she would have been turned out on her ears the day after she’d turned eighteen. It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful, of course, she was, eternally so. The world had little patience for orphans, as she had learned through her sister’s fate.

Elizabeth Marie Potter was nine years old when their parents died. While Joey had been too young to recall their gruesome fates, Elizabeth remembered it all, far too clearly. Her mind had collapsed under the pressure of it all, or so Mrs. Leery had explained some years later when Joey asked. She was eventually sent to a children’s home in a nearby town. Bessie Michelle, as she was called, wrote to Joey for years, even before her younger sister could read. It was she who sent Joey their mother’s necklace on her thirteenth birthday. The letters were often horror stories of bullies and beatings ironically drafted in charcoal and childish hand. Then one day, the letters stopped coming. Joey learned sometime afterward, through an eagle eared school mate called Abigail Morgan, that Bessie had run away to France to marry the illegitimate mixed-race son of a plantation owner and a black woman. No-one had any proof, but that never stopped anyone from believing it. Since that day, the townsfolk held a sort of weighted anticipation around Joey as they waited to see exactly what scandal she would doubtlessly become intertwined.

“Not yet,” she sighed. She didn’t know why she was putting it off. Emma was right, she couldn’t stay with the Leerys forever. Still, there was a part of her that hoped.

“Do it,” Emma said for the hundredth time. “If you don’t do it, then I will, lass. It’s a good position with good wages with a good family.”

Joey nodded, she knew that. But, Worthing was nearly a day away by coach and once she was gone, she was certain everyone would forget about her. One person, in particular.

Emma studied her face in the dim light. “I ken that ye’ve harbored some ideas about yourself and Master Dawson.”

Joey’s heart thumped in her chest at the accusation. Was she so obvious that everyone knew?

“But this isn’t one of those fairy stories that ‘e writes.” Emma held her wrist in her callused hand. “‘e’s going to marry a fine lady from a fine family. She won’t be as kind or sweet or beautiful as you, but it won’t matter. She will be ‘is kind of people.”

“I am his kind of people,” Joey said without thinking. These were her darkest thoughts, the ideas she kept buried in her throat. “My mother was an heiress and my father was a successful businessman. We had a lovely home and servants and…”

“And what does it matter?” Emma snapped, suddenly annoyed. “All of that died the day yer ma and pa did.”

Tears pricked the backs of Joey’s eyes. Emma was right, of course. Of course.

Seeing the tears, Emma stood up. “You go on to bed, lass. Ye’ve had a long day,” she said kindly. “I’ll clean up down here.”

It took all of Joey's effort to obey.

* * *

Since the accident, the focus of the Leery house had shifted completely from preparing for the annual masquerade ball to tending to the mysterious accident victim. Servants were now directed to avoid that level of the house completely, all except for Emma, who was personally tasked with ensuring the lady’s care. It was Emma who eventually told Joey that the lady’s name was Jennifer and that she was from London.

To Joey’s surprise and eventual dismay, no-one seemed more attentive than Dawson, who seemed more than content to take on the role of a nurse.

She cornered him one morning after dressing Mrs. Leery for the day. He’d been on his way to the guest apartment, of course.

“How is she doing, Dawson?” Joey asked, hoping that her voice didn’t sound as jealous as she felt.

“Much better,” Dawson replied distractedly. He refused to meet Joey’s gaze but did his best to slip past her.

“Do you … mind if I come to see her as well?”

Dawson froze in his tracks, she could see in his face that he did, in fact, mind very much. “Of course, I am sure that Miss Liddell would like that.”

Joey gave him a warm smile. Before he could change his mind, she raced to his side and hustled along the corridor to the guest room.

Dawson tapped his knuckles softly on the door, only a second passed before he hurriedly pushed inside.

Joey followed in silence.

The Miss Liddell in question was seated comfortably in bed, propped up by at least a dozen pillows. The bedclothes were white, as was her dressing gown, and with the morning light streaming into the room, it gave the sickroom a very Delacroix-like effect.

Joey’s stomach dropped. Miss Liddell, with her halo of golden blonde hair and cherubic face, looked like an angel, even a few days after a life-threatening experience.

Dawson bowed stiffly, first to the figure on the bed and then to Emma, who was folding strips of cloth in the corner. Emma raised her eyebrows at Joey, who just shrugged in reply.

“I hope you’re doing much better today,” Dawson said, grinning like a fool.

“I am, Mr. Leery. Please tell your parents how deeply grateful I am and will always be for their hospitality.”

Dawson waved aside Miss Liddell’s platitudes. From his pocket, he procured a small, red leather-bound book. Joey recognized it as a small book of poems that he counted among his least favorite possessions. He edged closer to her bedside. “Yesterday, when you spoke of your love for poetry, it made me recall my love for the written verse.”

Joey couldn’t stop herself. She snorted.

Three pairs of eyes turned to her. Joey smiled timidly and dropped into a short curtsy.

Dawson recovered quickly. “Miss Liddell, let me introduce Miss Josephine Potter. She is one of my oldest friends,” he said shortly.

Miss Liddell sat up a bit straighter. “Of course!” She smiled with genuine warmth. “Emma has told me all about your heroism. You and Mr. Witter were the ones who found us.”

Emma never looked up from her chores.

Joey felt her face redden. “It was mostly Pacey … er … Mr. Witter.”

“Still, I am endlessly in your debt.”

Joey nodded stiffly. She wasn’t used to such praise and somehow wished it would stop.

“May I ask…what of my coachman, Henry?”

“Oh,” Dawson perked up, happy that the attention could return to him once more. “He’s with the Witters. I am sure he will be fine.” He clasped her hands in his, for comfort, of course.

Miss Liddell smiled weakly. “We were headed to Weymouth to see my family before the accident,” she said. “We must have gotten lost. Please, tell Mr. Witter to keep me updated on his health.”

Joey was reluctantly impressed. She was surprised that a society girl like Jennifer Liddell would care so deeply for the health of her coachman.

“Have you also sent word to my family to the address I gave you?”

“Yes, we sent a letter with the doctor,” Dawson assured her. “We should hear back very soon.”

Miss Liddell smiled weakly. The smile didn’t seem to reach her eyes.

“We should let you rest,” Joey said after a moment’s silence.

“Yes,” Miss Liddell looked gratefully at Joey, “I do feel a bit light-headed this morning.”

Dawson looked extremely concerned, “should I call for the physician?”

“No, no,” the blonde replied sweetly, “I just need to rest my eyes for a few moments. Perhaps you two can visit me later this afternoon?”

Dawson seemed reassured and agreed instantly. “I’ll leave the book here, in case you need some further entertainment.”

“Thank you, Dawson. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Potter.”

Joey smiled tightly before leaving the room. She couldn’t help feel disappointed. She’d wanted so desperately to dislike Miss Liddell, but somehow, it seemed impossible.

* * *

Pacey finally came by the Leery’s three days after the accident. This might have been a new record for him, who had never kept away from the Leery house for anything longer than twenty-four hours. Pacey normally spent his days hunting, riding, and fishing. However, this week, he’d been running errands and fetching doctors and medicines from the market in town. He almost felt useful, for once.

Even more unusual was the fact that he’d been invited around by his friend Dawson. From what he had gleaned from the missive, they were all going to the seashore for a picnic with the newest member of the Leery household. The young accident victim by the name of Jennifer Liddell.

He’d ridden over on his horse, Douglas, named for his brother. It was a running joke in his family, even if he was the only person laughing. His carriage privileges had been temporarily suspended by his father, who hadn’t been pleased by the bloodied state of his conveyance after Pacey brought home the injured coachman earlier this week. He’d been surprised that his family had ultimately allowed the coachman to take up space in one of their spare rooms, where the poor man was currently being allowed to recuperate. The Witters weren’t known for their kindness. They were known for the exact opposite.

He sauntered into the entryway as he’d done a million times before, handing over his coat and hat to the butler, Charlie. Already in the foyer was Joey, who was naturally, frowning at the staircase. She was wearing a plain grey dress today with her hair braided back and looked all of fifteen years old.

“You know, if you keep your face like that, it will stay that way, and then no-one will want you,” he said by way of greeting.

Her head jerked up suddenly, almost as if she’d been in a trance. Strange, he thought, she was day-dreaming a lot lately.

“Great. Then we can be a matching set.”

Pacey smiled despite himself. “Did you miss me?”

“Like I’d miss having consumption.”

Joey was tall for a girl. He sometimes teased her about it because he knew she hated how tall she was, and it was always a pleasure to spar with Josephine Potter. Today, however, it didn’t seem so terrible that the top of her head reached his chin - he was well over six feet and often felt like he was shouting down at the ladies in his presence.

“I wanted to tell you something,” Joey said after a few moments of silence. She seemed to be struggling internally with whatever it was. “I wanted to say that you did a good job after the accident. You probably saved their lives.”

To say Pacey was shocked was an understatement. His face must have conveyed his surprise because he noticed that his mouth was hanging open like a codfish.

“You don’t have to look so shocked.”

“I want that in writing,” he grinned. “I want that in writing so the next time you attack me after reading the thesaurus, I can rest in absolute comfort knowing that Potter paid me a compliment of the highest order.”

She was frowning again. He’d always had that impact on her. Truthfully, Joey only smiled around him if Dawson was present.

“Forget it, I take it back.”

“It’s too late. It is engraved upon my heart,” he clasped his hands to his chest theatrically.

“Oh, save it for the play, Leopold,” she slapped his arm lightly.

“Yes, _Marguerite_ ,” he joked, but didn’t stop smiling. “So, what is this picnic business all about?”

Joey sighed and started chewing on her lower lip. She was distressed. “Well, the girl from the carriage. She’s almost fully recovered. Or so the doctor says.”

“Uh-huh,” Pacey prompted.

“Dawson is…” she was wringing her hands now. Understanding dawned on him.

“Wait, you aren’t trying to tell me that our boy, Dawson, has finally started taking an interest in the opposite sex?” Pacey laughed.

Joey stared hopelessly at him. Oh, now he knew it was true. Joey was miserable.

“This is going to be a great day!” He declared. His voice was so loud that it echoed through the marble foyer.

“Can you be more idiotic?”

“I always can.”

“Don’t you see what’s happening? How much longer is she going to be here? She’ll leave and break his heart!”

Pacey considered this. “You’re probably right, and then he’ll funnel his feelings into another God-awful play and force us to act out the parts,” he shuddered.

Joey narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re supposed to be his friend.”

“I am his friend, Potter,” he shot back. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re also supposed to be his _friend_.”

“I am!” Joey’s voice rose in indignation. He watched as blotches of pink appeared on her cheeks and her chest (a common symptom when he was around). This time, his gaze lingered a bit too long on her décolletage. “You know that Dawson is sensitive and I am just trying to keep him from getting hurt.”

“And if you run off his suitors in the process, well so much the better.”

Now, it was Joey’s turn to stand with her mouth open like a fish. “No! You have completely missed the point.”

“Definitely,” Pacey nodded, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I missed the point.”

“I loathe you.”

“What are you two fighting about now?” Both Pacey and Joey looked up to see Dawson standing at the top of the staircase. He was dressed in what Pacey strongly suspected were new breeches, a plaid waistcoat, and a new black frock coat. Pacey squinted at his friend. Was that a walking stick, as well? He looked like a dandy!

Anxiety was coming off of Joey in waves.

“You’re looking dapper, brother!” Pacey greeted his friend, to which Dawson responded with a wide smile.

“You don’t think it is too much?” Dawson asked with an embarrassed smile. For years, Dawson’s idea of fashion had been strictly bohemian and based heavily on a romantic idea of a disheveled Byron.

“No, never,” Pacey said. “Doesn’t he look sharp, Potter?”

Joey looked mutinous. “You look very nice, Dawson,” she replied finally.

Dawson released a long exhale, grinning like a man who had just won a fortune at the gambling tables. “I need you two to be on your best behavior today.” He was whispering, but threateningly. “Miss Liddell has been through a very difficult last few days and I want today to be a perfect distraction for her.”

“Absolutely,” Pacey agreed, while Joey nodded once solemnly.

Dawson disappeared then, clearly on his way to collect his paramour.

“If he gets his heartbroken, Pacey,” Joey hissed, “I hope you take full responsibility.”

Pacey nearly groaned, “he’s a grown man, Potter. He’s nearly nineteen. What? Did you think you and him would play house forever?”

He could see from the pained look in her eyes that was exactly what she thought. The knowledge annoyed him more than he cared to admit.

Dawson arrived then, clearing his throat loudly. “May I present, Miss Jennifer Liddell,” he gestured wildly to a petite woman at his shoulder.

Pacey took immediate notice. So this is why Joey was so anxious. Jennifer Liddell was beautiful. Furthermore, she was everything Joey was not. She was petite and soft, with plump lips, rosy cheeks, and thick blonde curls. Pacey had to admit, she and Dawson made quite the handsome couple. He’d seen her a few days ago after the accident, but today, clad in a high-waisted flowing white gown and topped off with a neat flowery hat — it was a completely different person. The only symptom of the crash was a white bandage tenderly wrapped around her right wrist.

“Hello,” she smiled at them.

“We’ve already met her, Dawson,” Joey snapped.

Pacey grinned like a maniac. “Enchantée, mademoiselle,” he gave a flamboyant bow for good measure, to which Jennifer giggled, Joey groaned and Dawson growled. “May I have the unparalleled privilege of escorting you to the carriage?” Pacey continued, already making his way up the staircase.

“No!” Dawson was by Jennifer’s elbow in a heartbeat. 

Pacey didn’t seem particularly put out by the reprimand. “Pardon?” He continued in his bastard French.

“I will take her to the carriage, Pacey,” Dawson said tightly.

“Of course, of course,” Pacey did another silly bow.

“He doesn’t want her to get infested with your fleas, Pacey,” Joey said loudly.

“And yet, he’ll let her get infested by your foul attitude. Now, which is worse?” Pacey tapped a finger to his chin.

“You know what, Pacey?” Joey said. Out of the corner of his eye, Pacey saw Charlie, the butler raise his eyes heavenward. “You are the most pig-headed, arrogant, obnoxious human being that God ever had the misfortune to create!”

“Well!” Pacey roared back. “I take that as a compliment from the _tallest_ , most condescending, miserable and tedious woman in all of Christendom!”

Their trade would have continued for hours had it not been interrupted by a soft giggle, almost like the tinkling of bells. “Dawson,” Jennifer smiled. “Your friends are certainly amusing.”

Dawson, who had been near tears just seconds before, grasped onto this like a drowning man would a raft. “They’re a riot.” He laughed stiffly. “They’re rehearsing for my next play, remember, as I told you.”

Pacey and Joey exchanged confused glances.

“They’re supposed to be lovers but we are working out some of the … kinks.”

“Well, I think they are very convincing,” Jennifer smiled serenely as she descended the stairs by Dawson’s side. “Mr. Witter,” she said once standing before them. “I want to sincerely thank you for your part in my rescue.”

She had a lovely voice made more charming by a perfect London accent, Pacey thought, and he enjoyed talking to her, if only because it so obviously bothered Dawson. “For you, I would do it again,” he reached for her hands and kissed her fingertips lightly. “And again.”

Dawson’s face was beet red by the time the carriage was brought around to the front of the house. While the ladies settled inside, Dawson pulled Pacey away. “What is wrong with you?” he snapped.

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Stop … flirting with her!”

“Dawson, I am merely showing her a distracting time, as you asked.”

“That is not what I asked!”

“Dawson, I am …”

“You know what, Pacey?” Dawson snapped suddenly. “Don’t come to the picnic! Go home!” And with that, he bolted inside the vehicle and slammed the door shut.

It took Pacey a full five minutes after seeing the carriage speed off towards the gardens obscured by a plume of dust, to realize that his friend truly wasn’t coming back.

* * *

Pacey hadn’t been to the house in over a week. Not that Joey could blame him, as based on Dawson’s level of infatuation, she suspected Pacey would be challenged to a duel if he came within fifty paces of the Leery mansion or Jennifer Liddell.

“Are we still doing the play, then?” Joey asked one afternoon. She’d found Dawson outside of the drawing-room where he recently spent his days faithfully entertaining Miss Liddell and not much else.

“Why wouldn’t we be doing the play?” He asked distractedly.

Sometimes Dawson was as dense as bricks. “Because you and Pacey are fighting and he’s the lead actor.”

“Oh, right.”

“So, how are we going to do your two-person play with one person?” Joey asked.

“We will scrap the play,” Dawson stated. “It isn’t a massive loss. You and Pacey were terrible. No offense.”

Joey brightened for a moment but quickly realized the implications of his decision. “But, how will you get your sponsor?”

Dawson brushed away her concerns with a shake of his head. “There will be other masquerades.” He paused before licking his lips. “You know, Joey,” Dawson spoke slowly, so much so that she could see the wheels in his mind turning. “I’m beginning to see why you dislike him so much.”

Joey scoffed, “Who? Pacey? I’m surprised. I’ve been extolling his terrible character to you since we were eight and you’ve never listened.”

“Did you see how he behaved yesterday at the picnic?”

“He didn’t come to the picnic, Dawson, remember? You banished him.”

“I did not banish him!” Dawson became defensive. “But you saw how inappropriate he was being with Miss Liddell. She nearly died, for Heaven’s sake and he was flirting with her as though she were a common tart.”

Joey shrugged. “You know that he didn’t mean anything by it, Dawson. Pacey is just thick-skulled, he never takes anything seriously. Didn’t he get suspended from Eton for dressing as Queen Victoria in the school’s pantomime?” But she couldn’t ignore the feeling of dread that had seemingly settled between them.

There was more to this and she knew it. To be blunt, Dawson had transformed over the last few days into a lovesick pup. He spent all his waking hours trailing after Miss Liddell like a third leg and the nights writing truly awful poems to read to her when the sun came up. Seeing him like this was like a punch to her stomach. She was constantly reeling from the shock of it. The worst part was that he didn’t even seem to notice.

“You’re defending him?”

“Oh, come off it, Dawson. It isn’t like Miss Liddell is your fiancée.”

He sighed dreamily. “Joey, do you remember when we were children and we dreamed of falling in love and getting married?”

Her spirits plummeted. The memories of her and Dawson pretending to be Lord and Lady of the manor were practically sacred to her. They meant nothing to him.

“Yes. Why?”

He said wistfully, “I have found her, Jo. I have found my soulmate.”

“Who?”

Dawson’s thick eyebrows inched together. She could tell he was annoyed with her. “Jennifer,” he mumbled as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Dawson, you have known her for a week. Not even a full week because she was out of it for the first few days.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He was in his full romantic mood now. “The heart always knows.”

Joey swallowed thickly. “What are you planning?”

Dawson smiled, “I’m going to speak to my parents tonight. I plan to ask for her hand.”

His smile faded when he saw her expression. She knew what he saw, the mask she held in place had fallen away. “Dawson,” she whispered. “You don’t know her.”

“I know enough,” he still seemed perturbed by her stricken expression but it wasn’t enough to deter him. “She’s beautiful and kind and spirited and smart.”

Joey bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from crying out.

“She’s a lot like you, Jo,” he pressed on, “if you only gave her a chance you’d see that and like her too.”

Joey nodded. Her heart was racing, “a lot like me?” She shivered despite the August heat. Her world was falling apart.

A few seconds passed before Joey blurted out a strange “I’m leaving.”

Dawson looked perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a position,” she lied. “A governess position in Worthing that I am going to take.”

Dawson seemed surprised at first, and she discovered that she was praying that he’d do something - one grand declaration of his love and beg for her to stay. Just like they’d always said, just like they had always pretended it would be in their nursery games. Instead, he did the opposite.

“That’s wonderful, Jo. I’m happy for you. I know you’ve wanted your freedom and now you’ll have it.”

Tears were clogging her throat now, they made her voice heavy and her words tumbled over each other. “Y-you don’t think that it is too far away?”

“What? No!” He said. “It is just a few hours away, and you can always write. I’ll admit, I don’t know what I’ll do without you in my plays.” Dawson paused for only half a second. “Actually, Jennifer could take your place. I’m sure Pacey would … never mind.”

Joey was speechless. In all her imaginings of how this conversation would go, she’d never dreamed of this. Somewhere behind her, there were footsteps from one of the dozens of hired servants brought in to help prepare for tomorrow’s musicale. The steady thump shook her out of her reverie. This was it.

“I have to get ready for dinner, Jo. We can talk tomorrow.” Before rushing off, he leaned forward and brushed a light kiss on her cheek. The spot burned like it had been branded. Inside, her heart screamed from the pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind words and support so far. This chapter we have introduced Jennifer, and no, her last name is not a typo :) bear with me my lovelies. I'm trying to get a chapter uploaded each week (famous last words), see you next week. My interpretation of the Scottish accent is poor to be sure, would appreciate you ignoring that part.


	3. The Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joey finds an unlikely ally and Pacey learns something unsettling about Dawson's houseguest.

Although she wanted nothing more than to crawl into her bed and bawl her eyes out until she couldn’t feel anything anymore, that evening, Joey was obligated to help Miss Liddell prepare for dinner. She’d promised Mrs. Leery as a favor, and knew better than to disappoint the mistress of the house.

“Thank you for doing this, Josephine,” Jennifer said sweetly as Joey pinned up her hair. “You’re very kind to help me.”

The truth was, there was no kindness in Joey’s heart. She’d spent the first few minutes trying in vain to find a terrible way to style Jennifer’s hair. Unfortunately for her, there was nothing she could do to make the woman look any less appealing, short of shaving her bald. Even then, she suspected, Jennifer would likely still be breathtaking.

“I am happy to help,” Joey forced herself to say. “Do you need help with your dress?”

“Yes, thank you. If you could just perhaps help me with the laces in the back.”

Joey walked over to the wardrobe and retrieved a flowery white silk taffeta confection. Despite herself, Joey gasped. “This is such a beautiful gown.”

“Isn’t it?” Jennifer agreed. “It is my favorite.”

The fabric in the dress looked as though it were inlaid with pearls or diamonds, so beautiful was the way it shimmered when the light danced across it.

Somehow, Joey didn’t like that she and Jennifer had anything in common. She promptly set the gown on the bed and started undoing the laces.

“Are you all right, Josephine?” Jennifer asked after a few moments. “You’re so quiet tonight.”

Joey wanted to snap that Jennifer didn’t know her disposition but held her tongue. “I have just had a long day, that’s all.”

Jennifer nodded understandingly. “Did you perhaps disagree with someone?”

Joey’s hands stilled at the back of the dress. How did she know? Slowly, she met Jennifer’s warm, blue eyes. _She knew._

“You aren’t upset?”

“Why would I be upset?” The other woman said in her breathless voice. “I mean, I saw him flirting with me, but we don’t know one another well enough for me to ever seriously consider him.”

Relief washed over Joey in waves. “I…I told him the same thing.”

“I wish you would talk to me, Josephine,” Jennifer added. She inched closer and placed her hand on Joey’s shoulder. “I know we could be true friends.”

“I…I just…” and then, it was like a dam burst. “I just want him to see me, like how he sees you. That’s all I want,” Joey felt mortified by the admission, but there was no laughter in Jennifer’s eyes, only kindness.

“I know what that’s like. I have a beau as well. We’ve known each other since we were children and he never saw me as anything other than an interfering sister. We’d bicker constantly.”

“Yes!” Joey edged closer. “That’s exactly it! Sometimes, he's so hard headed. How … how did you change his mind?”

“Well, I’m a bit embarrassed to say it,” Jennifer brushed the dress’ skirts aside and sat on the bed. “One day, we had a ball in the county and I made certain to wear my best dress. I got my hair done up just like on those fashion plates from Paris. Then I … well, I invited him into the gardens for a secret rendezvous.”

Joey gasped, she would have never suspected someone as sugary sweet as Jennifer Liddell to be capable of seduction.

“It worked?”

“Of course,” she giggled. “The problem is that men like to put women in boxes.”

Joey nodded, absorbing her every word. “If you’re their friend then that’s all you’ll ever be. The trick is to get them to see you outside of the box that they have put you in. Change their minds, so to speak.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Joey whispered, her shoulders slumped dejectedly. “I’m not … pretty.”

“Josephine, you’re beautiful!”

“I’m too tall.”

“I won’t hear another word about it! You’re beautiful and I know he sees it too. I saw it for myself when he’s around you. The way he smiles when he looks at you, I can tell he cares for you deeply. Even if he doesn’t realize it. Yet.”

Joey bit her lip, her confidence buoyed ever so slightly by the thought that Jennifer, the dazzling lady from _London_ , had seen a side of Dawson that she never had. “Can you show me what to do?”

“Of course!” Jennifer clapped her hands together in delight, “we can set it up for tomorrow night at the musicale. You can send a secret note to him, inviting him to a rendezvous in one of the rooms. Once he sees you tomorrow all done up and you confess your true feelings, he’ll fall in love with you instantly.”

“Oh,” Joey faltered. “I’m not invited to the musicale. I was only allowed to attend for a bit to help Dawson with his play.”

“Of course you are. As my very special guest.”

Hope began to eat away at Joey’s hesitation, but she couldn’t let it win just yet. Nothing could be so easy. “I don’t have any ball gowns.”

“That’s a simple fix. I have dozens. We can let the hem down off a blue one I have, it’ll look amazing on you.”

Joey blinked, carried away by the thought of it. She was almost like a fairy god-mother in those stories Dawson read. “It can’t truly be this easy, can it?”

“Not easy, but simple. I’ll even help you deliver the note to him.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course,” Jennifer smiled warmly. “What are friends for?” 

And with that reassurance, the pair of them got to work.

* * *

Pacey had learned over the last few days that waiting on Dawson Leery for an apology was like waiting on the invention of a horseless carriage. Useless. His mood had soured even further last night when during his weekly rendezvous with Tamara Jacobs, a certain nagging brunette came to mind rather than his usual fascination with his paramour’s fantastic tits.

They’d been in their favorite spot, behind a marble grave marker in the Capeside Cemetery (well beggars couldn’t be choosers, could they), when Potter’s accusation rang clearly in his ears. He was so disturbed that when he pulled his face from out of the aforementioned tits, he heard himself ask.

“Tamara, why do you love me?”

There was just enough moonlight for Pacey to see Tamara blink, once, twice, and then laugh horribly. _“Love you_?”

He remembered trying to laugh too, although it sounded empty to his ears. Her face had softened then, and she ran her soft, perfumed hand along the side of his face as if she wanted to comfort him. “Pacey,” her voice was almost tender and with her wild flaxen hair ruffled, she looked to him like a fallen angel. “This world is too hard for love.”

He had nodded.

“What we have is so much better,” she breathed into his ear.

He wasn’t in the mood for much rutting after that and they’d both gone home unfulfilled.

Potter had been right. The idea filled him with bile. He’d spent the entire morning friendless and womanless as a result, he volunteered to run errands for his father so he would have an excuse to leave the house. He wandered about the town for several hours more than he needed to, pausing periodically to peer into the storefronts and to speak to the sailors on the docks. Fridays were a busy day in town, as many of the working class received the pay-packets early in the morning, and escaped during their lunch to purchase their necessities for the coming week. The crowds were made more urgent today as it was a cloudy, grey day in Capeside. Heavy grey clouds were blowing in from the south sea, peppering the salty breeze with the acrid smell of rain.

As the clocktower chimed noon, Pacey realized that he had dallied long enough, and started to make his way back to the inn where he had deposited Douglas, his prized black mare. As he rounded the corner briskly, he collided with a female shaped object, who squealed and dropped her parcel, while mumbling quick regrets. Pacey also apologized as he fell to his knees to help collect the scattered items. Seconds later, he realized to whom the voice belonged.

“You have to be more careful, Potter,” he said to her bowed head, and to his dismay, he found that he was smiling again.

* * *

“You don’t need to speak to me every time we see each other,” Joey replied curtly, quickly grabbing her scattered paints from the footpath before they could be trampled by passersby. “I won’t think you’re rude.”

“Perish the thought, Potter. I’d never miss an opportunity to enjoy your scintillating wit.” Pacey was smiling at her in that lopsided way of his. The flash of white teeth and glint in his blue eyes had always made her feel unsettled, even now, she felt her face grow warm. God, she hoped she wasn’t blushing, she knew Pacey would tease her endlessly about it if he saw.

“Who are the paints for?” He asked as he collected a small blue jar.

She snatched it from his fingers quickly, almost ashamed at her silly behavior. Somehow, Pacey always brought out the worst in her. “It is none of your concern.”

He must have known from her response that they were hers. If they had belonged to anyone else, she wouldn’t have tried to hide it. He didn’t press the matter any further but offered his hand so she could stand. She ignored it. “Goodbye, Pacey,” Joey said briskly.

“Wait,” he grabbed her by her elbow, pulling her closer to the storefront and out of the way of the rushing townsfolk. “Err…how was the picnic?”

Last week’s picnic seemed months past now, Joey had to blink for several seconds before she remembered what Pacey was even asking about. “Oh, it was…fine,” she said vaguely, “Dawson read to Jennifer and we played some games on the shore.”

The truth was, Dawson had stared at Jennifer as though she were the second coming of Christ. He had plied her with poems, songs, and stories all while ignoring Joey for the entire excursion. Thank God she’d had the foresight to bring a book. It gave her some satisfaction now to know that Jennifer had been completely immune to it all.

“Sounds lovely,” he said drily.

“So sorry that you couldn’t make it,” Joey said sarcastically.

“I’m certain you are. After all, it led to more alone time with your Lothario, didn’t it?”

Joey felt her face break into a frown despite herself, Pacey was watching her with his deep blue eyes and it made the hairs on her arm stand up almost as though she’d been struck by lightning. Her frown deepened.

“And, how has he been?”

“Who?” Joey was puzzled before she remembered that Pacey hadn’t been around the house for days. “Oh, Dawson. He is much the same. In a terrible mood today,” she dropped her voice. “I believe he asked his parents for permission to court Ms. Liddell and they refused him.”

“Which would explain why you haven’t chucked yourself off the cliffs then. Hang on, haven’t they only just met?” Pacey asked, confusion evident on his face.

“Yes, but you know Dawson.” She pulled her parcel closer to her skirts, suddenly fidgety. “How…how have you been?” She asked, even though the words sounded foreign to her ears.

“Oh, you know, Father has been running me ragged but what else is new?”

Joey nodded stiffly, uncomfortable with this attempt at civility. Somehow, it felt like a betrayal to Dawson. She thought of the restless way she’d started feeling when Pacey looked at her and pushed the thought away in a heartbeat. This was Pacey, after all. It was extremely possible, after all these years that she was finally allergic to him. “Well, I better be off,” she said quickly.

“I didn’t know you painted,” Pacey said instead.

When she looked at his face, she couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not. Joey scowled in response. “it isn’t surprising, Pacey. We don’t know very much about each other.” It wasn’t exactly true, she’d known Pacey for almost fourteen years, she’d spent summers by his side as well as Dawson’s. Theirs wasn’t a friendship, but they were familiar. She knew about Mrs. Jacobs, after all, she knew that he’d wanted to leave Eton desperately because he couldn’t keep up with the classes. She even remembered when he fell from the tree in the wood near the Leerys trying to get her kite down from one of the highest branches. He’d broken his arm.

Now, he looked at her strangely, with an odd expression in his eyes. It lasted only a second, replaced moments later with the same lopsided smile. “That’s the charming conversation that has your beaus flocking for your hand … oh wait,” he placed a hand under his chin in mock consideration.

Her ears burning now, Joey turned on her heel and walked away, just in time to hear Pacey call out, “Good day, Potter!"

* * *

The Witter mansion was a sprawling estate in the middle of Capeside, set beside a picturesque wood. Despite the size of the premises, the family seldom had any visitors because it was a fact that the Witter family had likely gained their substantial means through gambling, whoring, breeding racehorses, and every other forbidden investment their Christian minds could fathom. They thought it was the devil’s money, and they were probably right, Pacey figured. The money had never made anyone in their family happy.

Today was a particularly miserable day in the Witter household, as news had just broken that his sister, Gretchen, had been thrown over by her fiancé in favor of a soap heiress from the colonies. He’d left his father in his office this morning with his solicitor, plotting to buy the competition’s soap business out of pure malice.

As he handed over Douglas to a stablehand, the familiar feeling of dread filled his entire being at the thought of entering his house. It was little wonder why he spent so much time at the Leery Manor. The alternative was utterly depressing.

He took the long way to his father’s office, passing several jumpy servants in the process. It appeared that his father’s mood had soured.

True to form, John Witter was three glasses of brandy deep when Pacey entered the room.

“You have some letters, sir,” Pacey said quickly and quietly. He placed the stack of letters on his desk and moved hurriedly to the exit.

“Pacey,” slurred his father. “Wait.” His stomach dropped to his toes.

“Yes, sir?”

“How is that servant doing?” He spat. “The one who you have housed up in my perfectly good guest accommodations like he is King Solomon.”

The coachman, Henry Parker, was a prickly issue between father and son over the last few days. John Witter had only agreed to allow him to stay in their home after hours of pleading from all five Witter children. Then, it seemed as though he regretted the decision instantly and blamed Pacey for the entire fiasco.

“He’s sitting up now, sir,” Pacey dutifully responded. “Once he starts walking, you can turn him out on his arse, just like you’d planned.”

“Smart mouth!” John roared and Pacey flinched. He watched his father rummage through the letters he’d just deposited on the table until he found the one he wanted. Then, he tore through the envelope with his teeth. Pacey sometimes wondered if there was any truth to his father’s claim that his great-grandfather had been an Earl.

“Did you learn anything in town?”

“No, sir,” Pacey replied. “Everyone is excited about the masquerade tonight.” He mentioned that only because it was one of the few social events to which his family was ever invited. It might do his father good to remember he should be sober by this evening.

“There’s something I wanted you to learn, but you have no talent for espionage or anything else.”

Pacey sighed, bracing for today’s fatherly lecture. “That man you brought into this house is a criminal!”

Pacey choked back a laugh. “A what?”

“A criminal,” his father retrieved a thick sheet of paper from within the envelope, indeed there was a hand-drawn image of a man with the word: WANTED, scrawled at the top. “He’s accused of kidnapping a Miss Jennifer Lindley from her grandmother’s home in London.”

Pacey’s heart thumped wildly in his chest. “There’s a Jennifer Liddell right now in …”

“Yes!” His father’s eyes were bright with glee. “Finally, you see! The lady wrapped up in the Leery house. Certainly, she’s not acting like she was kidnapped.”

“That…does not make any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense, boy.” His father poured himself another glass of brandy. “Have you ever seen a lady that age traveling without a chaperone? They’re lovers. They were running away together. They were probably taking a ship to the continent from Dover. He stole the carriage and the girl.”

His father’s wild musings didn’t make any sense. Dover was on the other side of the country, how lost could she have been? And besides, he had seen Jennifer Liddell with his own eyes and she didn’t seem scandalous in the least.

“It is the talk of London high society,” he said, taking a long sip of his drink. “My business partner, Fredrick Caufield, told me the story earlier this week. I said to myself what are the odds?” he paused with his glass poised at his chest, and the other hand on his hip.

“Always been a gambling man,” Pacey mumbled under his breath.

“Do you know what the best part is?”

Pacey had taken the discarded letter in his own hands, watching in disbelief as the drawing of the man revealed itself to be a replica of the injured coachman upstairs.

“There doesn’t seem to be anything good about this.”

“To hell, there isn’t! There’s a reward!” 

There was, Pacey read, for £200, for any information leading to the capture of this man.

“Are you serious?” Pacey exclaimed, “you don’t need the reward money!”

“That is the foolish attitude that would have the Witter name be dragged in shite! I don’t need the money, but I will take it!”

Pacey shook his head in disbelief. “When will you hand him over?”

“As soon as he can stand. I’ll tell the Leerys too, about the whore they have in their house infecting their perfect son.”

He sounded far too happy at the prospect. “Maybe I can get £400 for the pair. Pity the horse died, that would have been £450 at least.”

Pacey thought about that. Dawson was smitten by this woman. They weren’t on the best of terms now, but certainly, as his lifelong friend, he had an obligation to let him know.

“I wanted to tell you, son,” his father placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “As bumbling as you are, this was good work. I’ll give you the reward money to invest for yourself.”

It was as close to a declaration of affection he’d ever receive from his father. “Thank you, father.”

“Go get ready for that nuisance masquerade. Your sisters are in a fit over their ribbons and bows already. This could take hours.” Pacey nodded and left the room, all the while planning just how he could warn the Leerys before his father did.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of a filler but the next chapter is a beauty. I hope you all got as good a laugh as I did remembering S1 Katie Holmes trying to convince the audience that she was unattractive. What a world. Today, I finished plotting out the story, so there's a good chance I'll finish it soon, hooray. Thanks for reading and for the wonderful support you've given me so far.


	4. The Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pacey comes to the masquerade with the intention of helping his best friend. However, things go awry when he receives a suspicious invitation to a greenhouse rendezvous.

For the first time in recent memory, Joey Potter was excited.

She’d hardly been able to sleep last night, although that hadn’t impacted her energy in the slightest. She’d completed her chores this morning in record time, making her way to town and back in under an hour, and even finding a few spare moments to help Emma with the mending in the kitchen.

“Are ye humming?” Emma stared at her as though she’d grown a second head.

Joey rolled her eyes. “It’s a nice day.”

“Nice day?” Emma scoffed and put down her needlework. Her short mousy hair was hidden beneath a white cotton cap and her face was pink under a glistening layer of sweat. “Today is a terrible day. There is three times as much work for us preparing for that bloody masquerade.” 

In years past, Joey would have agreed with Emma. The masquerade meant the lot of them decorating, tidying, and serving until late at night, only to wake early the next day to tear it all down on top of their regular duties. There wasn’t even any quiet in their usual kitchen sanctuary, which was swarming with hired cooks and servers. But, today was different.

“I’ve been invited to the masquerade,” Joey grinned.

Emma didn’t smile back, instead, she looked frustrated. “Did Master Dawson invite ye?”

“No, Miss Liddell did. She asked Mrs. Leery for permission and she’s agreed. Well, I’m not allowed in the main hall but I can technically come once I’m not in anyone’s way.” 

“Did she now?” Emma snorted. 

Joey narrowed her eyes in Emma’s direction. “Is there something you’re trying to say?”

Emma looked at her hands, then the kitchen table, and then finally, at Joey. “There’s something off about that lass,” she seemed to consider it. “I just canna put meh finger on it.” 

“Emma,” Joey sighed. “Why can’t you ever be happy for me?“

"Did you write in for the governess placement?” 

Joey looked down into her lap, feeling embarrassed by Emma’s obvious disapproval. “I just know that if Dawson can see me tonight. Just see me as someone other than little scrubber girl Joey Potter then maybe he’ll feel … something.”

She’d gotten that daydreaming look in her eyes again, she could tell by Emma’s stern look. 

“Then what?” The other woman snapped. “Then ‘e’ll marry ye? Then ye’ll be able to have a real bedroom downstairs with the family? Then ye’ll be able to eat in the dining room?” 

“You don’t understand!” Joey breathed, so low that she couldn’t tell whether Emma had even heard it. 

Emma shook her head from side to side, “Aye, I ken better than ye think. What yer dreaming up. It isn’t real. It is an eyes closed wish.” She gestured at the dark, damp kitchen, now more crowded than ever as the cooks bickered over the roast. “This is real.” 

Joey bowed her head, mulling over what her friend had said.

“Write ‘em a letter, Jo. Please.” 

Joey didn’t reply, but in her mind, she’d already made her decision. Applying for that job, moving away to Worthing, that would be as good as admitting defeat. She wasn’t ready to give up on Dawson just yet. 

* * *

By eight o'clock that evening, the Leery Manor was awash with lights. The stark white facade of the mansion glowed eerily in the moonlight as the massive front-facing windows shone with the evidence of the hundreds of candles lit within the house. The carriageway was lined with horses and conveyances and had already started to smell like the inside of a stable as the wait to be allowed inside dragged on. 

The Witters (and their two chaperones) had been waiting in line for nearly half an hour. By the time footmen opened their carriage doors to allow them into the house, the notorious Witter patience had long run out, seven times over. 

“We are leaving this God-forsaken place at midnight. Not a second later,” John Witter barked over the hum of the orchestra as the family walked into the entryway. 

“Aye aye, captain,” said his brother, Doug with an unmistaken tinge of resentment in his voice. Doug was a renowned dancer and loved balls and soirees more than any debutante. Nevertheless, he quietly adjusted his white mask to a more attractive position on his face, even though it was identical to those which would be worn by all the men here tonight, and walked forward.

“Let’s just hope that at least one of you makes a suitable match tonight, right?” Jane Witter, his mother, said as she fixed a ruffle on Gretchen’s dress. Gretchen’s eyes were bloodshot behind her demi-mask from crying over her now former fiancé, and it was truly cruel to force her to come to the masquerade. 

Not that his parents noticed.

Inside the ballroom was already boiling hot and smelled of wax, sweat, wine, and pomade. Chandeliers were lit brightly overhead, casting the expansive space into blindingly white light. It was nauseating, overwhelming every sense. And, Pacey noted glumly, it was filled to capacity. How would he find Dawson in this crush?

He managed to elbow his way through the crowd and into one of the adjacent drawing rooms. From here, he had a fairly decent vantage point to peer over the heads in the crowd and find his rogue friend. 

“Pacey? I didn’t think you would actually come.” 

He swallowed a groan at the woman’s voice, twice in one day, what were the chances? 

“Potter, you must be French because I just cannot seem to get rid of you.” He turned to face her, mentally preparing for her frowning face but the biting remark died on his lips. 

She was wearing a beaded silk gown in such a rich, deep blue that it almost seemed black. The bodice of the dress held to her slim frame like a second skin, the beading along the chest making it look as though she were somehow, dripping wet. The silk skirts ballooned out from her hips, giving her waist the illusion of being so small that Pacey considered that he might be able to encircle it with his hands. In the candlelight, he could just make out the smattering of freckles along her chest and arms, a consequence of her too tanned skin. Her mahogany hair, which she always wore in a knot at her nape, was curled in an elaborate undo with a few tendrils left to flutter by her cheeks. 

“Hilarious, Pacey,” Joey said briskly, snapping him out of his reverie. “Who are you looking for?”

He blinked at her, spellbound. Her mask covered half of her face, but he knew those brown eyes as well as he knew the stubborn shape of her mouth. 

“D-Dawson,” he stammered. “Have you seen him?” 

“No, not yet,” she said wistfully. He saw her glance meaningfully at the nearby grandfather clock. 

Something was wrong with him, Pacey realized. His heart was racing and his palms were wet. His skin felt too tight and he was far too hot. Was he sick? 

“Is…is it warm in here?” 

“It is,” Joey said distractedly, her eyes hadn’t moved away from the space in between the doorway. She was still looking for someone. 

Of course. _This was for Dawson_. Annoyance sliced through him like a hot knife. “Why’re you so dressed up tonight?” He asked anyway. For some reason, he wanted to provoke her, to get some sort of reaction out of her. 

He’d made her tense, he realized with mild satisfaction. Pacey saw the pink tint to her cheeks immediately and then noticed that she had started wringing her hands as he knew her to do when was she was nervous. He forced himself to ignore the sudden impulsive urge to reach out and hold those hands. 

“Can’t little orphan Joey Potter come to parties, Pacey?” 

“Answering my question with a question. Potter is hiding something,” he smiled mischievously. 

Joey flushed and looked at him angrily. “It isn’t any of your concern what I do.” 

She was right. It wasn’t his concern. He shouldn’t care, but he did. He’d cared too much since the first time he’d laid eyes on her fourteen years ago. Since then, she’d crawled under his skin and set up permanent residence there. 

This line of thinking was dangerous but he couldn’t stop himself from inciting her further. “Why are you here? Why aren’t you out there dancing?” 

She made a face, he could feel it, rather than see it, as she had turned away from him and was watching the ballroom again. The orchestra had just switched to a waltz. “I don’t know how to dance.” 

_I could teach you_ , he thought but would die before he actually said it. “Where’s Miss Lindley … I mean Miss Liddell?” 

“She went to get us some refreshments.” 

“Are you two friends now?” 

“Pacey, leave it.” 

Well, that wasn’t suspicious at all, he thought. Still, when he looked at her, he felt a rush of heat at the pit of his stomach that made him consider something very terrifying indeed.

“I’m going to find Dawson,” he blurted out. 

He quickly left without another word. When he chanced a look back over his shoulder, she hadn't moved from her post. She was still peering into the ballroom. 

* * *

Pacey didn’t have to go very far to run into the so-called Miss Liddell. She was, as Joey said, standing in the refreshments room beside a long table stocked with sandwiches, cold meats, fruits, and bowls of punch. 

“Miss Liddell,” he smiled, bowing slowly. 

Gratefully, she smiled back. “Mr. Witter, I was hoping I would see you tonight.” 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

She was wearing another shimmery white dress complete with the thin bandage around her wrist. Her neck was adorned with a simple string of white pearls. Like the other ladies, she wore a mask that just barely covered her eyes and the bridge of her nose, obscuring her identity from absolutely no-one. 

"I wanted to apologize to you for what happened the other day at the house,” she said. The music and chatter from the crowd had risen so loudly that Pacey had to lean forward and crane his neck to hear her speak. 

“Mr. Leery should have allowed you to come to the picnic. It certainly wasn’t very polite of him to do anything else.” 

He searched her eyes as she spoke, seeing nothing that would indicate an untruth. “Have you seen Dawson, at all?” 

“Tonight?” She looked surprised by the question. “No, not since the beginning of the ball.”

Pacey nodded slowly, unconvinced that his father was right. If she was hiding something, what was it? 

“Well, if you’ll excuse me,” he took her hand in his and brushed his lips lightly across her knuckles. “I have to go find my sisters.” 

“Of course,” she smiled and then dropped into a slight curtsy. When she removed it, he realized that she’d left a scrap of paper in his fist. Before he could ask her anything else, she’d scampered back to the drawing-room. 

Puzzled, Pacey opened the small, crumpled note. 

_Meet me in the greenhouse at 11 o'clock._

* * *

“I gave him the note!” Jennifer whispered excitedly to Joey just moments after. 

“You saw him?” Joey looked terrified but she managed to smile with excitement. 

“Yes, he was just outside.” Jennifer thought of how handsome Pacey had looked in his dark jacket, snowy white shirt, and white mask, rather pleased with her matchmaking efforts. 

“That’s odd,” Joey’s brow furrowed, “I haven’t seen Dawson all night.” 

“Dawson?” Jennifer froze, suddenly feeling like she’d been drenched in ice water as Joey nodded, suddenly shy. 

Jennifer swallowed thickly. “Yes, Dawson. That’s who I just saw.” 

Joey released a long-held breath. “I’ve been so worried. I’m not sure that this is the right thing to do.” 

“Don’t lose courage now,” Jennifer reassured her, pressing a small glass into her hand. “Here, drink this.” 

“What is it?” 

“Just a little French wine,” she said. “It will settle your nerves.” 

Joey swallowed it in one gulp and then grimaced. “It’s awful. May I have some more?”

Jennifer handed over her own glass as well. 

“Your other friend, Mr. Witter,” Jennifer ventured carefully after a few minutes’ silence. 

“Pacey isn’t my friend,” Joey said distractedly. 

“Yes, I gather that now,” she mumbled but pressed on, “I’m not familiar with his family, do they live nearby?”

“Oh, yes," Joey said, “They live about a quarter of a mile down the road in a gaudy house near the edge of the wood. If you ever ride pass, you can’t miss it. It looks like something from a Mary Shelley novel.” 

“Josephine,” she finally breathed, as her conscience got the better of her. “Whatever happens tonight. I want you to know that you are truly a lovely girl. If things had been different. I know we could have been the best of friends.” 

Joey seemed too distracted to consider the full impact of her words. That was likely for the best. “You can call me Joey. Everyone does.”

Jennifer smiled weakly. “All right, Joey and you can call me Jen.” She glanced at the grandfather clock, “let’s get you outside, it is almost time.” 

* * *

Was there ever a good reason to follow instructions written on strips of paper dropped into your hand by a mysterious, likely conniving woman? The answer was most assuredly, “no”. Yet, Pacey Witter walked, almost like a sheep to the slaughter, out to the Leery’s greenhouse.

There was a full moon tonight, but even without it, the lights from the manor were so numerous that they would have illuminated the gardens before him. The grass was damp from the rainfall earlier in the day but the storm clouds had long blown north leaving a biting summer breeze in their wake.  
  
The old greenhouse was a tiny structure, made mostly of glass and iron painted white, and used to house the gardener’s rarest finds. When they were children, he, Dawson, and Potter would spend hours inside hiding among the rare plants until they were caught, spanked, and reprimanded. Now, standing outside the wrought-iron gate, Pacey wondered what exactly this mystery woman had in store for him. He assumed she’d figured out that she knew her secret and would beg him not to tell. He knew how he’d react as well. He’d be noble and urge her to tell the truth to Dawson and his family. Hopefully, the whole mess could be cleared up within the hour. 

The gate, old as it was, screeched loudly when he entered. Inside the greenhouse was far warmer than the gardens and Pacey immediately removed his coat for fear of heatstroke. It was also much, much darker. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out the vague shapes of some flowers and furniture, but there were no people. At least none that he could see. 

“Dawson?” That was Potter’s voice. What was she doing here? 

“It’s me,” he started to say, but the cool pressure of her fingers on his lips silenced him. 

“Don’t say anything,” she whispered, even though they were alone. She was so close that he could feel the heat from her body, and hear the erratic thump of her racing heart. He could smell her too, a sweet, clean flowery scent that was stronger than the perfume of all the flowers in the space. 

“I wanted you to know,” her voice trembled, “that I love you.” She’d been drinking. He was sure he could smell a bit on wine on her breath. “I’ve loved you my whole life and I’ve been too terrified to say anything because you’re also my best friend. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.” She’d thrown her face into his chest now and was sobbing. 

Yes, she’d definitely been drinking. But instead of prying her away, Pacey placed his hands on her back, running his hands along the groves in the back of her dress. His silence shocked her back to reality. 

“You’re not Dawson.” 

“I most definitely am not,” he said in a strained voice. 

“Pacey!” She looked up him, stricken. Her face was streaked with sticky tears, her hair had started to come undone. Her mask was practically crumpled. Against his better judgment, Pacey fumbled with the strings at the back of her head until that too fell aside. There she was. Laid bare before him. 

Her face was arranged in an expression terribly similar to exasperation. His stomach plummeted. No matter how long he stared, and he had stared long enough, there was never anything else there for him. 

Her eyes slipped close. “Please, tell me you didn’t hear any of that.” 

“I can’t do that,” he was trying to laugh but he couldn’t. His heart felt as though it would burst through his chest. 

She realized that she was still clinging to him and made a move to back away. Instead, he pulled her closer. 

Why was she so damned beautiful? Even in this half-darkness, there was something downright poetic about the curve of her chin and the subtle authority of her cheekbones. 

Pacey sensed that he was losing his mind. 

“What…what are you going to do then?” She’d opened her eyes again. Those murky pools were the end of him. 

“He...he doesn’t deserve you.” 

He stepped forward and captured her lips with his. She made a noise, a mere whimper which dissolved into a low hum when he ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, pleading for entry. The kiss was just like the two of them always been, rough, provocative, and unyielding. It was a battle for domination with neither party willing to surrender. He could have died when her lips fell apart. Pacey pressed his hands into her hair, running his fingertips along her scalp, scattering the pins everywhere, allowing her hair to tumble along her neck. She shivered at his touch and he did die a little when she whispered, “Pacey.”

He tore his lips away from hers, tasting her salty cheeks, peppering the sweet curve of her neck with kisses. She arched towards him, her hand grasping at his hair, his skin, his shirt. 

Pacey pushed her onto the glass wall behind them, grabbing both her hands in his. Somewhere behind him, something fell and shattered when it touched the floor. A plant pot. He remembered where they were. He remembered who they were. 

She opened her eyes and stared at him. He knew she could feel the heady evidence of his arousal pressed against her stomach. “I’ll stop if you want me to,” he whispered. 

He was fascinated by the urgent rising and falling of her chest as she struggled to draw breath.

Her voice was ragged, pleading, breathless. “Don’t stop…” 

This time when their lips touched, the kisses were gentle. It was like the touch of butterfly wings against his skin — quick but tender. He barely even stopped to come up for air. Pacey remembered thinking that Josephine Potter must have the softest, sweetest lips in all of England before it all came crashing down. 

Behind them, the iron gate screeched. 

It only took them a second to pull apart, but it was a second too long. In the doorway, with a lantern held high above his head, was Dawson Leery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, Dawson, ruining things for everyone since 1998.  
> Thank you for the support so far, it truly has warmed my heart. Not much more to say for this chapter except that now the story really gets started. Let me know what you think!


	5. The Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the rendezvous in the greenhouse, only one thing is certain: everything has changed.

Despite the obvious evidence to the contrary, Joey prayed that she was in the middle of a terrible nightmare. 

The theory made some sense. After all, for the last few moments, she’d felt as though she were drowning in a dark sea of sensation. Even now, she still felt light-headed and groggy, as though she’d just awoken from a feverish dream. It couldn’t be from anything else, she thought. It couldn’t be the result of the last few moments in Pacey’s embrace. 

_Pacey._

A dream would also explain her and Pacey's behavior — because nothing else would. Most importantly, it would mean that Dawson might never remember what he’d just seen.

 _What exactly had he just seen?_ She wondered frantically, but it only took one tentative look at his stoic face for her to realize; he must have seen everything.

“Dawson,” she mumbled in a trembling voice, but stopped mere seconds after, suddenly at a loss for words. What could she say? What would explain this? A part of her wanted to glance over to gauge Pacey’s expression, but after what had just transpired between them, she wasn’t certain she could ever look at him again. 

“You,” Dawson’s voice was cold. His expression turned angry as he pointed at Pacey. “Get away from her.”

She forced herself to look at Pacey, realizing that he had never removed his mask. In the dim light of the lantern, she could just make out the stubborn set of his profile as he stared hard at their friend.

Joey felt as though she’d just run a marathon, her limbs were shaking so vigorously that it took every effort to keep her legs from buckling. "Dawson,” she said in a calmer voice, even though her hands still shook. “You don’t understand, this was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Dawson looked at her as though she were speaking Dutch. He placed the lantern on a nearby shelf. “Joey,” he spoke slowly as though she were a simpleton. “He was taking advantage of you!”

“No!” Joey sputtered, shaking her head wildly. “Nothing happened.” She turned to Pacey, silently urging him to confirm her comments, but he never took his eyes off Dawson. There was a small muscle in his jaw that jumped slightly, indicating how tightly his mouth was clenched shut. 

Dawson ignored her. “This is just like you, Pacey.” He took a few steps forward, stopping only inches away from his best friend. “You find a poor, vulnerable woman and you try to take advantage of her. You’ve done it with Mrs. Jacobs, with Miss Liddell and now, Joey.”

“Dawson, no,” Joey practically pleaded, she’d never seen him so angry. His hands were clenched in tight fists at his side, and he seemed ready to pounce. In another time, another situation, she would have relished the fact that he was so outraged on her behalf but seeing him clash with Pacey only made her feel sick. “It wasn’t like that!”

“Is that what you think of me?” Pacey said coolly. 

“It’s what everybody thinks!” Dawson spat. “All you care about is having a good time. You never take anything seriously. Joey’s always said so as well, but I never listened to her. Now, I don’t see how I can ignore it!”

Joey’s skin crawled. She didn’t need to look over at Pacey to know that he’d be hurt by the words. True, they never agreed on anything, but it was another matter entirely to hear that the people who’d known you longest thought you were a joke.

“Let’s go inside, we can talk about this in the morning,” Joey pressed her hands on Dawson’s shoulders, urging him towards the door but he roughly shoved her away, causing her to stumble into the wall.

He was immediately apologetic, rushing towards her before Pacey blocked his path. 

“Don’t, Dawson,” he said evenly. 

“Pacey, I’m fine,” Joey said to his back. From her vantage point, she could see the wrinkles in his collar made by her own hands. Humiliation burned through her gut, heightened by the aching tenderness of her kiss roughened lips. A part of her - most of her- wished that she could take it all back, but there was another part which had been roused by those few sensual minutes. That part, spurred by her racing heart and muddled thoughts, wanted nothing more than to do it again. 

Pacey didn’t seem to hear her, because he went on, “I’m the one you’re upset at, so let’s hear it. I’m the villain in your story.”

Dawson snorted, clearly outraged, “you’ve damaged her reputation, Pacey! Surely, even you can understand that! A girl like Joey shouldn’t be out here, all alone with someone like you!” 

“Who should she be with then?” Pacey spat, “you?”

Even in the dim light, Joey saw Dawson’s eyes widen and his mouth fall open. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Of course not,” Pacey laughed. “Because you don’t want her but, of course, you don’t want anyone else to have her either.”

Joey bristled at the harshness of his words. It was obvious that they’d forgotten her presence. She began to interject, but her words were drowned out by Dawson’s furious reaction.

“This isn’t about want! Joey is like a sister to me! What’s more, is that she’s a lady, you can’t drag her out in the dark of the night to fulfill your perverted desires!”

“What if I said that I’m going to start courting her properly? What if I said that I’ll ask your father for permission tonight?”

Joey’s breath caught in her throat, her stomach turned with one sudden icy plunge. She waited on the punchline. Surely, Pacey was joking. At the very least, he was prodding Dawson, hoping to get a rise out of him. The idea of the two of them together was so ludicrous she couldn’t even contemplate it properly. But then, he had kissed her. 

“Y-your perversion knows no bounds!” Dawson edged closer to Pacey, grabbing the front of his shirt, but Pacey pushed him back easily. 

“If I’ve damaged her reputation, then I’ll fix it,” Pacey said adamantly, slowly he turned and met her eyes in the darkness. Her heart gave a sudden jolt. “I’ll fix it,” he repeated.

“Don’t look at her!” Dawson held the front of Pacey’s shirt more firmly now, tugging the other man towards him so that they both fell onto the shelves in the corner. There was a tussle as they both struggled. Joey shuddered when she heard the first sounds of fists connecting with bone. 

“Stop it!” She screamed, but neither listened. 

They both struggled to their feet. Joey noticed that Dawson’s lip was already bleeding and that Pacey’s shirt had been torn open. They didn’t stop. Dawson lunged forward, tackling Pacey from around the abdomen and they both fell onto the floor once more, this time dislodging the lantern, which collapsed onto a nearby fern in a haze of light. In an instant, the small flame had engulfed the entire plant as well as the shelf behind it. 

That caught their attention. They released each other and bolted upright. Dawson ran to Joey, grabbing her hand and dragging her into the night while Pacey tried to extinguish the flames by beating them with his once discarded coat.

By now, the smoke, screams, and yells had attracted a small audience on the nearby lawn, including Mr. and Mrs. Leery, the latter of whom sprinted forward with her arms outstretched as Dawson and Joey ran towards her. “Oh my heavens,” she cooed, grabbing Dawson’s bruised face in her hands. “Are you alright? What was all that commotion?” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Joey saw Pacey emerge from the smoky greenhouse, covered in ash and soot. Although she could hear the bombastic sounds of Mr. Witter nearby on the lawn, she noticed that no-one from the family came forward to ensure that Pacey wasn’t injured.

The fire was out. Pacey’s coat was lost, and his shirt was nearly completely tattered. Joey could see the edge of a small cut near his eye and that his knuckles were bruised. He caught her eye for a moment but she blushed and quickly looked away.

“Pacey … had a fall,” Dawson said quietly.

“A fall?” Mr. Leery’s eyes narrowed. He already assessed the greenhouse and Pacey and had doubtlessly seen the damage to both parties. “Is that why you’ve split your lip and Pacey’s got a black eye?”

“Yes.” Dawson said. “That’s exactly why. Joey and I tried to help him.”

Mr. Leery glanced at Joey’s tear-stained face, rumpled hair, and discarded mask. “Let’s go inside. Somehow, I feel like there’s more to this story.”

That wasn’t even the half of it. 

* * *

The truth about the commotion outside, or some version of it, had spread through the masquerade faster than the fire in the greenhouse. It didn’t help matters in the slightest that the guilty parties - Pacey, Dawson, and Josephine, were corralled inside through the back entrance by a guard of dishonour made up of the boys’ parents, all the time shadowed by a line of whispering house guests.

Mrs. Leery tried her best to control the situation by doubling down on the good cheer. It was clear that she certainly couldn’t send all her guests home because that would only confirm their suspicions. So, she had her servants bring out fresh bowls of punch and even a few bottles of rare rum imported from Barbados. The orchestra was suddenly playing the polka. However, her guests would not be distracted, they’d seen the blood dotting Dawson’s shirt, they’d seen the state of Joey’s flushed face and they’d seen Pacey’s tattered shirt. The conclusion was obvious: scandal.

“It is clear they’ve been fighting over the girl,” whispered Mrs. Livingstone, who couldn’t believe her good fortune. This week’s book club meeting would be fabulous. 

“Most definitely,” Mrs. Milo agreed. “But this behaviour is unsurprising when you consider who is involved.”

The three ladies, the Madams Livingstone, Milo, and Valentine, were gathered in a corner near the refreshments room and watched like hawks as the three hooligans were shepherded inside a secluded drawing-room for private discussions. 

“If I have told Gail Leery once, I have told her a thousand times - those Witters sold their souls to the devil,” Mrs. Valentine pointed out. “A fire to a greenhouse with their son inside?” She tutted. “Satan himself is following them.”

“Never forget that the boy, Pacey, was turned out of Eton for cross-dressing,” chirped Mrs. Livingstone. 

“Or that he’s been said to be the father of Mrs. Jacobs’ last son,” Mrs. Milo said pointedly and the other two gasped in horror. 

“Why, that would mean that he sired the child at nine!” Mrs. Valentine could scarcely believe it. 

“I know! It is disgusting the things that awful woman is capable of!” Mrs. Milo crossed her chest and muttered a prayer for sinners everywhere. 

“Oh, a terrible influence on poor Dawson. And let’s not forget, of course, it is not her fault, but Josephine’s father was a murderer,” said Mrs. Livingstone. 

“And he was Irish,” added Mrs. Valentine.

“Most assuredly so. What do you think they’ll do?” Mrs. Milo wondered out loud but secretly, she knew the answer. There was nothing that could be done.

“Josephine’s reputation will be in tatters. If they had ever hoped for a good marriage for her, well there’s no chance at all now.” Mrs. Livingstone’s voice was practically triumphant. 

“I expect they may try to come up with an arrangement between the families. Marry her to one of the boys to save her reputation," Mrs. Milo said as she took a long sip of her punch.

Mrs. Valentine dismissed the suggestion instantly. “I doubt it. For one, John Witter is a nasty man who intends to marry each of his mediocre children to the aristocracy or the wealthy in the colonies. He claims that his great-grandfather was an Earl, even though there’s no proof of it at all.” 

“Only those Yankees would believe such tripe.” Mrs. Milo tutted with disdain. 

“Not even the Yanks,” Mrs. Livingstone whispered eagerly. “His daughter, Gretchen, has been thrown over by her fiancé after he discovered that their link to the peerage is fictional, at best!”

“Then they’ll hand her off to Dawson,” said Mrs. Valentine, almost gleeful at the thought.

“That would be outrageous. They’re practically brother and sister,” said Mrs. Milo, turning up her nose at the very concept. 

Christina Livingstone sighed heavily, the weight of the gossip was suddenly very heavy. “Whatever they decide to do, the damage is already done. Everyone here tonight has seen this spectacle and they’ll be certain to talk about it.”

* * *

In the quiet darkness of the Leery’s green drawing-room, Pacey wasn’t certain what felt worse; the red bruise throbbing beneath his eye; the soreness of his shoulder which marked the spot where he’d collided against the greenhouse floor, or the fact that Potter had refused to even glance in his direction since they’d come inside. He, on the other hand, couldn’t stop staring at her. 

Her face was nearly completely white, her hair hung loosely about her shoulders in a thick chocolate mass and she was visibly shaken, apparently holding herself together with her arms wrapped about her waist. Pacey watched with increasing frustration as she and the rest of the Leerys fussed over Dawson’s swollen lip as though it were a shrapnel wound. The truth was that Pacey had seen worse swelling from bee-stings. 

His cuts and bruises throbbed from neglect. His parents were huddled in a dark corner hissing at each other their plan to avoid paying for repairs to the Leery’s damaged property. If they’d noticed any damage to his person, they refused to mention it. They’d left him with his brother, Douglas, for company (really as a guard) but it was just as well that they’d left him completely alone.

He and Dawson had been placed at two separate sides of the room, much like how anyone would handle two warring toddlers. Now, from his side of the room, he noticed Potter chewing on her lower lip as her eyes grew bright and wet. He wanted more than anything to go to her. To talk to her. But what would he say? She’d want an explanation for what had happened, and he damn sure didn’t have one. He didn’t know why he’d kissed her. He didn’t know why, even after the last thirty minutes, he wouldn’t mind doing it again. Crucially, he had no answers to the most perplexing mystery of all - why had she kissed him back? God, was it even really a kiss? He’d barely been able to taste her before Dawson had interrupted. That was another problem, wasn’t it? Her unwavering devotion to their best friend.

“Does she know how you feel about her?” Doug’s deep voice broke through his thoughts. 

For the first time, Pacey glanced at his older brother standing beside him, leaning casually against the fireplace. “Who feels about what?” Pacey asked. 

“Oh come off it, little brother,” Doug snapped, rolling his eyes. “I mean Miss Potter. You’ve been staring at her like a starving man would a loaf of bread since you sat down.”

“No offence, Douglas but I don’t think you know very much about how I feel.” Pacey said.

“Why? Because I’m unmarried?”

Pacey was never close to Doug. His elder brother was twelve years his senior and had already been away at Eton when he was just taking his first steps. In the years that followed, Pacey was certain that he and Douglas had spoken no more than seven times. 

“What happened out there?” Douglas asked quietly after a few moments of silence.

Pacey made a concerted effort to stare at his muddy shoes, finally, under the weight of his brother’s questioning glare, he said, “nothing.”

“You’ll need a better answer for Father.”

He looked at Potter again, watching as she urged Dawson to drink from a tall goblet of water and felt all the grimmer for it. 

“Trust me, Doug. It was nothing,” Pacey said but was stunned into silence when Potter finally looked over at him. He sat up straighter in his chair instantly, holding her gaze for the mere moments that she kept it. She looked away just as quickly and then left the room, almost running in her haste to escape.

Before he could stop himself, Pacey had gotten to his feet, moving forward to run after her. He was blocked by a firm hand on his shoulder. Douglas held him back. 

“Nothing? Right?” Douglas muttered as he pushed Pacey back into the armchair. “You’ll need to work on your definition of nothing, brother. If you ask me, this entire situation has the potential to turn out very badly for you, in particular.”

“And why do you think that?”

“Well, you have the most to lose. This is your best friend.”

“Potter has her reputation to lose,” Pacey muttered quietly. “She has the most to lose.”

“The Leerys won’t let that happen,” Douglas responded confidently, although Pacey didn’t share his conviction. 

“If it comes to that, I’ll do the right thing,” Pacey said solemnly.

“Which is what?”

Pacey didn’t answer. He resumed staring at his feet as his thoughts tumbled over themselves in his head. If he were honest, and the honesty terrified him, perhaps he did know why he’d kissed Potter after all.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay in posting this week, guys. I've actually been moving in all this chaos so I have only now had a chance to edit and upload. The next few chapters may also be a tad bit delayed, but things will even out soon enough. Thanks for reading so far, glad you've liked it!


	6. The Agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pacey tries to be honourable when the true extent of the greenhouse fiasco is revealed.

Pacey had always considered the Leery library to be an architectural masterpiece. 

In his younger years, Mitchell Leery had been something of an amateur adventurer, traveling throughout the continent as well as to parts of Asia, Africa, and the West Indies. The room was decorated with the relics from his journeys. There was gold jewelry from Egypt placed next to swatches of silk from China and bright pink shells from the beaches of Antigua. There were books as well, thousands of them placed in no particular order inside massive oak bookcases which shone like polished brass in the candlelight. 

It was a dark, masculine room that Pacey imagined was Mr. Leery’s equivalent to his father’s office. It suited him well. Mitchell was a tall, muscular man with tanned skin and dark hair peppered sporadically with grey. His wife, on the other hand, was a tiny blonde with a serene face that belonged in a museum. They were a beautiful couple and their affection for each other was nearly tangible. It was a noted contrast from his parents, who clearly detested each other and only stayed together to avoid the cost and scandal of a divorce. In the library, while the Leerys held one another, Jane and John Witter stood as far apart as was socially acceptable, focusing their mutual disappointment on their youngest child. Douglas stayed quietly in the corner. 

Joey, Pacey noticed, had been sent upstairs. 

Pacey and Dawson sat next to each other in a pair of leather armchairs near the fireplace, both silently fuming.

“Boys,” Mr. Leery said finally. “You have both had some time to cool your heads. You can tell us the truth about what happened out there.”

Pacey was silent. His head hadn’t cooled, nor had any other part of his body. His heart still quaked at the thought of Potter’s trembling frame in his arms, only to quickly burn out when he remembered Dawson’s unmitigated anger. Despite all this, he wasn’t about to go into details about what had to have been the single worst and best decision he’d ever made in his entire life. He folded his arms in front of his chest.

“Pacey compromised Joey,” Dawson said flatly while Pacey groaned. 

Gail Leery gasped and his father uttered an expletive, loudly.

“Compromised, how?” Mr. Leery continued. 

“He…he…” Dawson seemed squeamish. “Well, I didn’t see everything but they were alone in the greenhouse for God knows how long …”

Pacey, who had slouched in his armchair jolted upright. “What do you mean you didn’t see?”

“Well,” Dawson flushed. He was clearly uncomfortable under the scrutiny. “It was dark! Besides, I didn’t need to see to know what exactly was going on! I've heard your stories about what you do with women!”

Pacey stared at the man he’d called his best friend for the better part of his life. “So that’s it, then? Did you bloody my face for nothing? You created that entire scene for nothing?”

“Oh please, Pacey,” Dawson spat and Pacey saw the familiar anger building beneath his cerulean eyes. “You and Joey can’t stand to be in the same room at the same time. Why would she be outside with you of all people unless you’d tricked her into being there so you could take advantage of her?”

“Why would I do that to her? I don’t hate her,” he replied, shocked at how little his friend trusted him. 

“Why were you in that greenhouse?” His father asked, coldly. Along with Dawson, this was another person who was always ready to believe the worst in him. 

“I-I was invited there …” he mumbled reluctantly. “By Jennifer Liddell.”

“That’s a lie. She…would never,” Dawson blurted out, but only Pacey seemed to hear.

“Ah-ha!” John Witter clapped his hands together in delight. Had the situation been any different, he might have danced a little jig. 

“It isn’t what you think, I just wanted to talk to her is all,” Pacey pressed, noticing that Dawson's eyes had frozen over.

“Trust my boy to not even know how to compromise a woman properly, dammit,” said John, who had started pacing. He wanted a drink, Pacey could tell, but there was no liquor in the library on account of the priceless artifacts. 

“What happened, Pacey?” Mr. Leery asked calmly, ignoring the frantic rumblings of John Witter. 

“We…well, my father found out that-”

“That Liddell woman, my mistake, _Lindley woman_ , has the morals of a street cat, Leery,” his father interrupted. “She’s here under a false name, and her coachman is tied up in an amoral situation. Being excellent neighbors, we came here tonight to alert you and of course, to demand that you hand her over so I can ensure that she’s taken to her family through the proper authorities.”

Mr. Leery paused and looked at his wife. Gail's face was bright red and she looked ready to explode with anger. He spoke calmly. “There’ll be no handing over of anyone, John. I’m certain you can appreciate that Miss Liddell is a guest in our home and these are serious allegations. She should be here to defend herself against them.”

“Nothing to clear up. Her coachman is wanted for kidnapping her, I have the letter right here in my pocket,” he patted the front of his coat. “The news is all over London. Surprised you haven’t heard of it, with all your contacts in the city, Mitchell,” John said smugly. 

Beside him, Pacey noticed that Dawson’s eyes had grown wide as his body had grown smaller, shrinking into the back of his chair. 

Mitchell was silent for a moment. “Have Emma fetch Miss Liddell. We can discuss this with her in a fair manner,” he told his wife. Gail nodded and quickly exited the room.

“I wanted to ask her about it myself,” Pacey added. “I wanted to convince her to do the right thing and to tell the truth.”

Dawson muttered something incoherent under his breath. Pacey glared at him, feeling more betrayed by the instant. 

“My son is foolish to be sure,” John sighed. “But he wouldn’t compromise the Potter girl. The two of them get along like cats and dogs. Your son has been dreaming again, Mitchell. All this excitement has been bad for my gout, I should send you a bill.”

“It isn’t as simple as that,” the other man’s voice had taken a decisive edge to it. “Josephine’s reputation was destroyed tonight. She’s only eighteen, she has no family, aside from us. Tonight’s events, true or false, will hurt her most of all.”

Both John and Jane Witter visibly bristled by the insinuation, but it was his mother who found her voice first. “What does that have to do with us? Pacey says that nothing happened.”

“When has that ever satisfied the town gossips?” Mr. Leery quipped. 

Pacey felt his stomach roll, but he spoke up. “I take full responsibility,” he said, ignoring Dawson’s utterance of disbelief. “I’ll do whatever it takes to repair Potter … err… Miss Potter’s reputation.” 

“That’s very noble of you, Pacey,” his father stated sarcastically. "But we Witters are never blackmailed, especially when it comes to things we did not do.”

“No-one is trying to blackmail you, John,” Mr. Leery straightened his back, ensuring that he towered over the other man. “This is a simple case of doing the right thing.”

“The stupid thing, more like it,” his mother spat. “What are you hinting at Mitchell? Be clear.”

“We should announce that the two of them are engaged to be married."

Mr. Leery's proposal was met by complete silence, broken only when Dawson laughed uncontrollably. “That would never work, Joey would drown in the Thames first.” He said when the chuckles finally subsided. 

“Joey, may not have a choice,” Mr. Leery replied tersely.

“Marry her!” John laughed heartily. “Let’s not forget, my great-grandfather was the Earl of Mansfield. Our family dates back to William the Conqueror! We will not be coerced into marriage by any of you. I can’t begin to imagine what it would do to have those murderous tendencies in our bloodlines.”

“Now see here, John,” snapped Mr. Leery. “Josephine has lived with our family since she was two years old. She’s like a daughter to me and my wife.”

“Is that so?” John Witter’s cruel snarl could curdle milk. “Is that why she takes her meals with the servants? Is that why she sleeps in chambers beside your housekeeper? She can’t be your maid one moment and the Princess of Wales in another.”

Dawson’s father suddenly looked very uncomfortable. “She is from a good family. There is nothing untoward about her bloodline.”

“Joey will never agree to this,” Dawson said again.

John Witter ignored him. “Your treatment of the girl is a poorly kept secret and honestly, I will not be bullied by any of you a moment longer. These are children. Pacey’s not even nineteen. He’s due to go in the Queen's Navy next year to make a name for himself and we will not be put off." He was pacing again, up and down the room like a pendulum in a clock. "Of course, I want to stress again that my son denies all allegations against him!”

Pacey watched both men argue over his and Joey’s future as though he wasn’t entitled to an opinion. It was a strange sensation. He felt almost like an imposter, observing the conversation from outside his own body. There was a definite restlessness in his limbs, but he kept his hands firmly on the armrests. His thoughts ran to Potter and how terrified she must feel, all alone in her room, totally unaware of what decisions were being made on her behalf. 

“It is a simple fix that will remedy this very quickly. We will draw up a betrothal contract. We’ll say they’re already betrothed. An engaged couple is allowed to spend some time alone, although the gossips will frown at the fact that it wasn’t announced before the scandal. Pacey and Josephine can dissolve the contract in a few years. When they’re twenty-one, we will say that they aren’t well suited and no-one would doubt it. They’d be free to live their lives after that, and still be young enough to have one.” Mr. Leery said. He slowly rounded the sole desk in the library and leaned against its edge. 

“Will you put up a financial incentive?” John’s mind always went to money. 

“I will,” Mr. Leery said shortly.

His father’s eyes lit up like a child at Christmas. “How much money exactly?”

“It is more than enough,” Mr. Leery frowned. 

“I’ll agree to it,” Pacey jumped to his feet suddenly. The words escaped his lips before his mind ever considered the implications, “I agree to the proposal. Potter did nothing wrong and she shouldn’t be punished. If she agrees to the contract, I will sign whatever you need.”

His parents uttered a collective groan, but it was John who spoke first. “You’re my son and you have no right to make such a decision.”

“I don’t need your consent,” Pacey said firmly. He didn’t, only women needed their family’s consent to marry. “I’m old enough and I don’t want any dowry either.”

Mr. Leery nodded, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “I’m proud of you, Pacey. You’re doing the right thing.”

“The hell he is!” John sputtered. “Then the both of you will starve when I disown you! We do not agree with this nor will we agree to this until I have written to my solicitor! What happens if she decides to sue us for breach of contract?”

“We can make provisions in the document,” Mr. Leery countered. “These provisions will ensure that both parties are properly protected.”

John Witter wasn’t satisfied, he sensed, almost intuitively, that he was at the losing end of a rotten deal. “Pacey, you didn’t touch the girl. You’re not obligated to repair her reputation.”

There was a moment of silence. 

“I did,” Pacey replied, his face burning. “Touch her.” 

That got their attention. Pacey noticed Douglas' satisfied smirk from the corner of his eye.

“We…that is to say, I found Miss Potter in the greenhouse. We hadn’t agreed to meet, I’m not certain why she was even there,” Pacey realized his confession wasn’t necessary, but his conscience wouldn’t allow him to remain quiet. “She'd had some wine, I realized that. She was also very upset. We spoke for a bit and then one thing led to another. Dawson didn’t see us but … well, we ...” he took a deep breath, watching as his father changed color from white to red, then purple. He growled eventually, silencing Pacey with one look.

“Don’t say anything else. We agree to the bloody contract, Mitchell,” John mumbled. “Jane, get the children. We are leaving. You,” he pointed at Pacey. “Come.” 

Pacey nodded once, but spoke directly to Mr. Leery as followed his parents and Douglas out of the room. “Please, let Potter know that I am deeply sorry.”

“I will, Pacey,” Mr. Leery promised, before turning to his son. 

“Joey will never agree to this,” Pacey heard Dawson reiterate as he walked into the corridor. He had been a bit surprised that Dawson hadn’t been more opposed to the entire proposal but now, he understood why. There was a smugness in his voice, his silence was based on certainty. Pacey didn’t doubt him as Dawson knew Potter better than anyone else. Still, there was a small part of him that hoped, for whatever reason, that she’d at least consider it. That she’d at least realize that he was attempting to make amends and what? He knew the answer. He wanted her to look at him with something in her eyes other than irritation.

* * *

John Witter hobbled through the hallway as fast as his gout ridden joints would allow, stopping only when he saw Mrs. Leery. “Where’s the Liddell girl? Tonight shouldn’t be a total waste of time, money, and effort for my family.”

Gail looked nervous, her eyes flitted between the crowded ballroom and the library. “It seems that she’s left.”

“Left?” His father was outraged even further, if possible. “What do you mean she’s left?”

“Keep your voice down,” Gail hissed, now fidgeting visibly with the folds in her gown. “It appears she convinced one of the stable hands to give her a horse, she’s ridden off. I am not certain where she’s gone, or how long ago she left but we are investigating.” 

“She’ll be headed to our house to get the coachman,” Douglas deduced. “We should hurry if we are to catch her.”

“How did this happen?” His father growled, he’d been outsmarted, twice now, although no-one dared mention it.

Pacey’s blood ran cold as he considered the matter. He shook his head as the entire situation became clear in his mind. “She set the entire thing up. She told me to meet her in the greenhouse, she must have sent Potter and Dawson out there too. She set it up as a distraction so she could make her escape.”

"Where are the bloody children? We need to get back to the house!” John Witter roared at his wife.

Pacey wasn’t a betting man but he already knew that they’d be much too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exposition. Har har har. A long way of leading up to an: Arranged Marriage Trope. But this one has a twist. During my move I thought up an even better one too. 
> 
> God damn, Dawson, that little narc.
> 
> Oh Jen, you devious little lady. I love the idea of bad ass Jen riding up and stealing off Henry. 
> 
> Thanks everyone, for reading so far and for all you kind words!


	7. The Farce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joey must decide whether she will accept Pacey's offer.

Joey was jolted awake early the next morning by an incessant knocking on her chamber door.

The sky outside the small window in her tiny room still carried that deep purple pre-dawn haze. It was still early. She forced herself to sit up, groaning inwardly as her head throbbed uncomfortably. Joey knew that she couldn’t have been sleeping for long. Her memories of last night, muddled as they were, consisted primarily of her crying silently into her pillow and then pacing the floors, reenacting the night’s events and trying to decipher just how everything had fallen apart. She remembered listening to her frantic thoughts until the sounds of the masquerade vanished into the night. She must have dozed off eventually, but her body still felt exhausted when she opened the door.

“Well, ye look a right state,” Emma said briskly before barging in. Despite the early hour, Emma was already scrubbed and dressed in her usual brown dress and bright white apron. She was likely worn out given the work she’d been assigned for the masquerade, but there was no evidence of it on her scowling face.

“I can’t help with the takedown today,” Joey said solemnly. “I’m unwell.”

“To ‘ell ye are.” Emma rolled her eyes. “Wash yer face. We all ken what ‘appened last night.”

Joey groaned and fell into a heap on her bed. Of course, they all knew. Servants always knew what happened in their employer’s house. With a start, Joey realized that this would only compound her situation, as most of the workers in the Leery manor last night were temporary. In all likelihood, the news would be in Edinburgh by noon.

“I’ve made a mess of everything.” 

“Ye certainly ‘ave,” Emma sighed. After a moment’s consideration, she sat on Joey’s bed as well and rubbed circles on the younger woman’s back. She must have noticed that Joey was still wearing the blue ballgown, but she didn’t mention it.

“What is everyone saying?” Joey mumbled from under the bedclothes.

“Do ye mean, what is Master Dawson saying?”

Joey suppressed a wail. Out of everything she’d considered, the repercussions of last night’s mishap were the most severe for her relationship with Dawson. He hadn’t even looked at her last night before she had hurried upstairs. What was worse was that she had no reason to believe that his position had changed with a night’s rest.

“He hates me,” she moaned into the mattress, succumbing to the tears. “It is all my fault.”

“No-one ‘ates ye,” Emma sighed. “I think we all ken that ye and Master Witter were the victims of a very terrible scheme set up by da Liddell lass.”

For the first time in hours, Joey considered Jennifer. Her new friend had miraculously disappeared after the scene in the greenhouse. Joey’s misery stilled for a moment, strangled by the cold hand of anger.

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, it turns out that Miss Liddell isn’t Miss Liddell after all,” Emma spoke calmly, her eyes were fixed outside the window at the first signs of daybreak. “Her real name is Miss Lindley and she ran away from her grandmother’s home about a fortnight ago with her coachman. She made off with all the jewels and gowns she could carry.” She touched Joey’s bodice for emphasis. “‘er grandmother ‘as been ‘eartbroken by it all. She’s taken ill and is near death from the shock of the scandal.”

Joey, who’d never had much of a real family herself, couldn’t contemplate a reason for abandoning a home. “What? Why? Who says all of this?”

“It is all anyone can talk about in London,” Emma shrugged. “I started to hear of it last night from some of the hired servants but we didn’t make the connection until too late. As for why, well, no one knows. They say she is with child, or that she’s a highwayman, or that she’s been possessed by an evil spirit.”

Joey blinked. “So … all this with me and Pacey, it was just for her to …”

“All I ken is that while everyone was fussing with you lot, she took Mr. Leery’s horse, went to the Witters, and made off with her coachman. If she rode all night, she’s likely making her way to the continent by now, on the first ship out the harbor.”

“I can’t believe she did this to me,” Joey breathed after a moment, remembering the warm, friendly look in Jennifer’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t take it personally, lass.” The first few streaks of sunlight were making their way into the room and Emma stood suddenly. She was late for her morning chores. “I canna ken what de lass is running from, but she must be desperate to go through all of this. Which is what I’ve come to say, despite yer obvious misery, yer not even the top news this morning.”

Joey combed her fingers through her tangled hair. Despite Emma’s reassurances, her small, quiet life was irrecoverably disrupted. “Doesn’t matter. Now, on top of being murderous Michael Potter’s daughter, I’ll also be a fallen woman to boot.”

“I did tell ye to write for the governess position in Worthing.”

“They won’t have me now.”

“No,” Emma admitted quietly. “They won’t.”

“What am I going to do, Emma?” Joey mumbled miserably. “Do you think that the Leerys will toss me out?”

“Well, I am well surprised that yer asking for me advice now. Ye ‘ave never listened before,” Emma chuckled.

“Emma,” Joey groaned, biting back a fresh wave of tears.

“Now, lass, it isn’t all of that,” Emma sat on the bed once more, wrapping her arms around Joey’s slim shoulders. “Mr. Leery will likely explain this morning. He wants to meet with ye after breakfast in his library.”

Joey’s eyes were wide, she’d never been invited to the library before. Emma seemed to understand her unspoken question. “After last night, it seems that there’s been an arrangement put in place,” she said.

“What kind of arrangement?”

Emma paused, licking her lips. “Master Pacey has offered for yer hand.”

Joey’s heart gave one steady, shocking jolt. “My hand for what?”

“Yer hand in marriage, lass.” 

“Pacey?” Joey swallowed a shout of hysterical laughter. Was this another joke? Pacey would never. Pacey could never.

“If ye think it through, it was the only obvious resolution.”

“Pacey hates me. Why would he marry me?”

Emma stood again, pausing on her way out the door to smooth her skirts and apron. “It isn’t a real engagement, course. They’re hoping it will keep the gossips quiet.”

Joey was speechless although one stubborn thought slipped through: Dawson. “How do you have a fake marriage?”

“Very easily in England,” Emma quipped as she opened the door. “Wash yer face, lass. It’ll be a long day.”

* * *

Pacey hadn’t slept a wink all night. However, to be fair, it was very unlikely that any member of the Witter household had slept at all overnight.

It had taken John Witter precisely five minutes to ascertain that the rumors about Jennifer Lindley’s disappearance from the masquerade were true. The coachman was gone. To make matters worse, two of his finest racehorses had also been taken although Mitchell Leery’s horse had been tied up in their stables. That was the literal salt in his wound after a very long night with many slights.

To his father’s credit, John mobilized his troops quickly, ordering both his sons and nearly all of the male servants into search teams to be deployed across the miles of woodland around the Witter mansion and into the town. The party had searched for hours but found nothing. As each group returned home empty-handed, John’s temper grew more unhinged until finally, he erupted into a drunken tirade of profanity which would have made a fish vendor blush.

He was still tearing through the downstairs rooms like a cyclone, taking out his disappointment on the antiques.

He’d been silent for at least an hour now, Pacey noted with some relief, perhaps he had passed out. It was the horses that had hurt him, Pacey thought as he stretched across his bed, praying for sleep to come. His father could have forgiven anything if she hadn’t taken the horses.

A light rapping on his door roused him from his thoughts. Pacey rubbed his hands against his eyes and dragged himself towards the door, a truly difficult task this morning as a result of the lack of sleep.

“Master Pacey,” mumbled the new footman in a shaky voice when the door swung open. Pacey didn’t recognize his face, but that was normal. Servants changed quickly in the Witter household for obvious reasons.

“Your father wishes to see you in his office, sir.” The footman’s face was stark white, made worse by the dark circles under his eyes. He hadn’t slept either, then.

“I’ll be right down,” Pacey sighed. The old chap wasn’t sleeping after all, then.

Pacey dutifully followed the footman through the gilded corridors, watching with increasing dread as the debris from the night’s ranting steadily increased along the route. There was no sight of any of his sisters or his mother, who he knew must all be upstairs bunkered down in their rooms waiting for the storm to pass. Douglas would have left for his own house as soon as the sun had come up.

He found his father hunched over the polished table among his scattered papers. Other than the clutter, the artifacts in his father’s office were nearly untouched. Of course, John Witter would have enough sense to protect his possessions.

“You rang, Father?” It was all pretense as both men knew what this morning’s discussion would be about.

“You’re not entering into any agreement with that Potter girl, Pacey,” his father slurred. “That’s the end of it. I don’t care what Mitchell Leery or Dawson Leery has to say about it.”

Pacey chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. He’d expected this moment and had planned out what he should say to his father when this conversation inevitably happened. Presently, he couldn’t remember a damned word of it. The anger burned through the pit of his stomach painfully, stealing the words from his gut. “I have told you, Father,” he said in a measured voice. “It doesn’t matter what you want. This is my decision to make.”

“Bah!” Mr. Witter growled, forcing himself upright. “And isn’t it a convenient occurrence for the Leery clan? Did you just happen to be inside when that girl was? Their bishop of a son just happens to see you? And now, that orphan is off their hands! Ha! It is a regular novella.”

Pacey swallowed, taken aback by his father’s reasoning. “How would you feel if it had happened to Gretchen or Kerry or Anna? Wouldn’t you want someone to do the noble thing?”

“My daughters know better than to be caught _in flagrante delicto_ with the neighbor’s son. And even if they didn’t, that would be my fault as a parent and no-one else’s,” he poured himself another glass of brandy and took it to the mouth in one swift gulp.

“I’m not going to abandon her,” Pacey stressed ignoring his father’s callousness. “That’s not the kind of man I want to be. Why are you so against it, in any case? It isn’t even an inconvenience. We would just be pretending. We’d go for walks, to a few balls, and then it would all over.” His stomach dropped a bit when he said the last part but he didn’t dwell on it.

“Except it won’t be over,” his father snapped. “Josephine Potter is a beautiful girl, son. Never mind the fact that the Leerys have her cooped up in that house like an old maid. Do you really think you can spend two years with her…hell, two months with her, pretending to be in love with her, and not become attached?”

Pacey couldn’t help it. He thought about the way Potter’s lips had trembled under his last night. He could still feel her cool skin under his fingertips, he could still hear the surprised moans trapped in her throat. He met his father’s eyes, contemplating his next move. “Of course I can. There’s no danger of either of us becoming attached. Josephine Potter is in love with Dawson Leery. She told me so herself last night.”

“She loves him but let herself be caught with you?”

“She was drinking,” Pacey pressed. Pacey watched as his father swallowed another mouthful of brandy.

“Son, I propose an alternative solution,” he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “There’s a school in Gilon. It takes girls like her. Educates them, wraps them up in a pretty bow, and sends them back into society ready to catch a suitable husband. I would pay to send her there myself. She’d be better off there. She’d have far more opportunities than being here, shadowing you.”

It wasn’t a bad proposal, Pacey thought. In all likelihood, Joey would probably prefer it. Still, his father never enjoyed spending money. Why was he so willing to send Potter to a school in Switzerland when his daughters had English tutors just like anyone else?

“She hasn’t even agreed to the contract,” Pacey countered. “As I said, it is harmless. In case you’ve forgotten, I have spent hours with Potter since we were children and she’s never fallen for my charms. Two more years won’t make a difference.”

His father raised his watery red eyes to his and ran his tongue across his teeth. “I don’t like the way you look at her.”

Pacey felt his face grow warm. “I don’t look at her…”

“Hell, I wasn’t about to tell you until you sorted the commission with the Navy, but I’ve been in discussions with Joseph McPhee. He owns some department stores in New York. Very successful. Very wealthy.” Pacey narrowed his eyes. “His daughter, Andrea, is about your age. We both thought that you two would get along. Very well in fact. I invited them here later this year to spend some time with the family, to get to know us. Mostly, so she could get to know you.”

“You’re marrying me off?”

“Preferably, I’d want her with Douglas but her father thinks that he’s too old for her. Nothing has been finalized as yet but you’d need to make a good impression. You’d make a better first impression if you weren’t betrothed.”

Pacey shook his head slowly, unsurprised by his father’s selfishness. “I can’t do that to Potter. I gave Mr. Leery my word to see this through. Once she accepts the offer, I’ll go forward with it.”

“Andrea McPhee is a renowned beauty, I’ve heard. A bit too bookish but nobody is perfect,” his father continued, undeterred.

“I said no, Father,” Pacey said. “I’m going to do the right thing.”

He turned on his heel and left without another word.

John Witter stewed in his office for another hour before finally retiring to his rooms to sleep.

* * *

It was nearly noon when Joey emerged from the library. If possible, she felt even more confused after the two-hour discussion with Mr. Leery than before she’d gone in.

Mitchell Leery, in the pseudo-fatherly way of his, had essentially explained in a pained but patient voice what Emma had confirmed earlier. Pacey had agreed to pretend to be betrothed to her. It would all be a sham. In two years, he’d likely be married to someone else.

The entire situation, the farce to be created from her misfortune, made her very uncomfortable.

“If you agree to it we can have Pacey come over tomorrow and sign the contract,” Mr. Leery had said in a solemn voice.

“The contract?” Joey stammered, feeling nauseous. “I can’t sign that.”

“Joey, please consider it,” he had said, looking awkward. “As a woman, your reputation is paramount. This would offer you some protection until you find a real husband.”

Joey sat quietly for the rest of the meeting, clenching her fists so tightly that there were now little crescent shapes from her fingernails marked in her palms. Afterward, she’d walked through the house, almost in a trance. She carefully avoided both the steps and the glances of the servants, who by their own sheltered glares, knew everything.

Eventually, her feet stopped at the stairs to the attic. Swallowing her hesitation, Joey opened the door.

True to form, Dawson sat inside among his dozens of pages. He was staring blankly at their makeshift stage rather than the pen in his hand. The room was softly lit by the golden tint from the midday sun. It glowed against Dawson’s hair, making him appear almost angelic. His demeanor was marred only with the dark bruising on his face and hands.

“Dawson?” Joey breathed, startling him. “Do you mind if I come in?”

Dawson blinked stupidly but rose to his feet instinctively. “Of course not,” he said.

Joey nodded gratefully and edged closer to her best friend. A few moments of weighted silence passed between them. Finally, she sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Dawson,” Joey blurted out. “I’m so sorry about everything.”

“No,” Dawson replied, pulling her against his chest into a tight embrace. “It wasn’t your fault. You were just naive that’s all. Pacey took advantage of you…”

“What? No, Dawson, he didn’t,” Joey pulled away from him, already overcome by the memory of Pacey’s rough kisses which had been summoned by the mere mention of his name. “He didn’t take advantage of me. I’m as much to blame.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Dawson continued tenderly. “Jo, we both know how Pacey is. He’s been fornicating with Mr. Jacobs’ wife for months now and he was proud of it.”

“H-He thought she loved him,” Joey muttered lamely. “She was taking advantage of him. She was older. She should have been more responsible.”

Dawson’s face changed, growing colder by the second. “You’re defending him again.”

“I am not defending him,” Joey snapped back. “I’m just telling you the truth. What happened last night wasn’t only his fault!”

The silence entered the room again. Joey balked, almost regretting her last words. She could almost feel Dawson’s disappointment like a shadow crossing her face.

“He says he will pretend to be your fiancé.”

“I heard.”

“Did you tell him no?”

“I’m…still thinking it through.”

Dawson laughed coldly. “Joey, you can’t be serious.”

Joey’s skin bristled, she looked at Dawson and for the first time in her life felt like she could throttle him. “Well, it isn’t as though I have a plethora of options, is it? Little orphan Joey Potter is now a ruined woman, just like her sister. If I turn Pacey down do you know what will happen to me? People won’t let their daughters near me. I’ll never marry. I’ll be trapped in this house forever or until your parents get rid of me.”

“Is that what you think?” Dawson’s face had softened. “You’re my best friend, Jo. I’ll always take care of you. You don’t need Pacey for that.” He cupped her cheek in his palm. “And since when do you care what people think?”

The action didn’t comfort her as it once would. The realization made her even more miserable.

“I have to decide by tomorrow,” she mumbled, suddenly angry. “It is all so unfair! If I was a man, I wouldn’t have to worry about my reputation. I could leave this God-forsaken village and do whatever I wanted.”

“What about your position in Worthing?”

Joey’s face reddened as she remembered the lie. “That’s not going to happen anymore.”

“Joey, if you want my advice,” Dawson sighed. “I wouldn’t take Pacey’s offer. Pacey’s intentions…well, I don’t trust them.”

“What do you mean?” Joey said, frowning.

“There are…things between a man and a woman, Jo. Things that Pacey will expect.” Dawson had turned beet red. “Intimate things, more intimate that what he tried with you last night.”

“Dawson, I already told you that we both…”

“What is it about him?” Dawson snapped, cutting her off. “Why do women just throw themselves at him?”

“I never said that I threw myself at him, Dawson,” Joey retorted. “You always behave like I’m a senseless little toy! You’ve never for a second considered that I’ve grown up. That I have feelings and … desires and that there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Oh, but Pacey does?” Dawson asked. “It is so curious to me that just a week ago, you two couldn’t even stand the sight of each other and now you’re defending his perversions to me! Me! Your best friend!”

He brushed past her in a rush, not even pausing to collect his pages as he walked out.

Joey sighed, feeling even more rotten. It wasn’t Dawson’s fault that his life was perfect. It wasn’t his fault that he believed the romantic novels he read. He’d never had to deal with any reality more gruesome than anything in a book. His idealism was one of the things she loved most about him. Funny, she thought as she followed him downstairs. It had never felt so grating before today.

* * *

“I’m here to see Ms. Josephine Potter.” Joey heard Pacey’s voice as she descended the stairway. Her heart, already frantic following her argument with Dawson skipped a beat when she caught sight of him talking to Charlie.

“Stop laughing, Charlie, or I’ll deck you,” Pacey threatened the butler who had dissolved into chuckles.

“I’ll have to tell Mr. Leery,” Charlie finally said.

“Honestly, Charlie?” Pacey scoffed, “I come here almost every day.”

“New rules, mate,” Charlie said solemnly. He bowed shortly before heading towards the library.

Joey pressed her back against the upstairs wall, making sure she was hidden by a large vase as she carefully watched Pacey down in the foyer. His hair was rumpled and his cheeks were flushed pink as a result of his ride over to the Leery house. There was a darkening bruise under his eye but he didn’t seem to notice. He bounced on his toes every few seconds, always a bundle of nerves and energy. Her breath caught in her throat, he was holding a bouquet in his hand.

“Ah, Pacey,” Mr. Leery called out. Joey heard his footfalls against the marble floors. “How did you sleep last night?”

“As well as could be imagined, sir,” Pacey grinned boyishly. “I returned your horse.”

Mr. Leery said something incoherent to which Charlie replied in the affirmative and dashed outside, likely to the stables.

“No sign of the Lindley girl then?”

“Not a trace,” Pacey confirmed and Mr. Leery swore under his breath.

“You may see Joey but she must be home by sunset,” the older man said. “I’ll get her down for you.”

Flustered, Joey dashed towards the end of the corridor where she started walking slowly towards the stairwell.

“There you are, Jo,” Mr. Leery spotted her halfway up the stairs. “You have a visitor.”

Joey’s mouth felt as though it was filled with cotton. Her skin felt like ants were crawling all over. “Who is it?”

“Pacey is here to see you,” he replied carefully. His face was blank but his eyes were focused steadily on her. “I’ve permitted him to go out with you this afternoon. It might help to clear your mind.”

It registered as strange to her just how easily Mr. Leery was willing to allow Joey to spend time with the man who had allegedly ruined her. “Is that proper?”

He sighed heavily in response. “I think so. Yes.”

Despite the kindness in Mr. Leery’s face, Joey knew this wasn’t a request. The charade had started. Biting her lip, she followed him downstairs.

Pacey’s eyes met hers for one moment as she walked towards him. He smiled at her, that same lopsided grin he always had. It made her mutinous stomach flip.

“Miss Potter,” he said in a way that almost made her double over laughing. He thrust the flowers towards her in one stiff motion. “I…uhh…thought you might like these.”

They were yellow roses. Big and bright. Joey had no feelings about flowers. She’d never gotten any before. But she admitted to herself that these were beautiful. “Thank you, Mr. Witter,” she mimicked his formal tone. She touched a soft petal with her fingertip, enjoying the rich smell.

Mr. Leery swooped in like a spinster aunt. “I’ll take these for you,” he interjected and took the flowers from her hands. “Remember, Pacey, she needs to be back home by sunset.”

Pacey nodded and offered Joey the crook of his arm. She stiffly placed her hand on his elbow and allowed herself to be led out the door towards the carriage. Once they were outside, she said, “ _Miss Potter_?”

He groaned. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?” She bristled.

“Start being your immensely charming self.”

Joey’s mouth hung open as the made their way to the carriage. His sarcasm burned her ears. “Well, if I’m so difficult to be around, then why are you here?”

Pacey dropped his hand. The loss of his touch was almost palpable. “You’re not…difficult, all right? I just meant that I don’t want to argue today.”

She met his eyes, watching as the colors shifted from blue to grey. “Last night wasn’t your fault,” she said.

“No,” he pressed. “It was, Joey.”

His use of her first name startled her. Her heart was racing again. “You were drinking and I … I was wrong,” he finished.

She thought of his urgent kisses, the hot pressure of his arousal against her stomach. The amazing way his lips had felt against her neck. “You were drinking too,” Joey said, ignoring the pooling of heat between her thighs. “I was just as responsible as you are. We both made a mistake.”

She watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “Right,” he said finally.

“So, where are we going today?”

Pacey’s face broke into a wide grin. “It’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises.”

“I know.”

Joey was frowning as he helped her into the carriage. “I thought that your father said you couldn’t use the carriage anymore.”

“He did, but he’s asleep,” Pacey said easily. He tugged on the reigns and the conveyance moved off. They drove in silence for a long time, stopping finally at a grassy bank near the edge of the woodlands.

“Is this your surprise?” Joey asked after he’d helped her down from the vehicle. The spot was wild and overrun by chirping insects.

“Patience, Potter,” Pacey said in that infuriating way of his. He returned to the carriage to retrieve a large canvas sack and began walking towards the sounds of the winding creek that this area was known for.

It was a lovely afternoon. The sun was warm and bright and the breeze was cool against her skin. Joey followed him silently, eventually stopping where he did, near a small rowboat.

“This is the surprise?” she pointed at the boat. “This doesn’t look seaworthy.”

“You know, for someone who allegedly hates surprises, you sure do ask a great many questions,” Pacey replied. He tossed the sack into the boat and offered her his hand.

“I’m just making sure you aren’t trying to drown me,” she said, although she accepted his help to get into the boat.

“I’m hurt, Potter,” Pacey sat down and grabbed the oars. “If I were going to do you in, I would have pitched your off the carriage on the way over here.”

Joey turned her face so he wouldn’t see her smile.

“Here we are,” he said after a few minutes of rowing. He docked the boat on the other side of the creek, nearly half a mile from where he'd left the carriage. Joey squinted at their surroundings. This was nowhere, just the middle of a grassy, swampy field overrun by thousands of wildflowers and a swarm of butterflies.

“You brought me to a marsh?”

“No, it is not a marsh,” Pacey replied. He hopped out of the boat and helped her out right after. His cheeks had taken on a pink tint as he rummaged through the canvas bag he brought with him. He retrieved an ornate looking wooden box from its depths and pushed it towards her without further explanation. Joey took the box from him, examining the intricate details carved along the sides of the mahogany carefully. With the utmost care, someone had whittled, “Josephine Potter” across the lid, Joey’s eyes widened, it was an artist’s box. Cradling it against her chest she opened it to find paints placed carefully alongside brushes and sheets of paper inside.

Flustered, Joey stammered, “Pacey, I can’t accept this.”

“It’s not a gift,” Pacey said, “not really. I mean, it is my way of saying sorry to you…for everything. I know it doesn’t begin to fix anything but I wanted to say it properly. Anyways, its got your name carved on it, so you can’t return it.”

Joey cradled the box in her arms, it was likely the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her. Her eyes stung slightly but she quickly blinked away any evidence. “You mean for ruining my reputation and forcing me into an engagement everyone knows is a farce.”

He smiled slightly. “Well, when you put it like that.”

“Thank you, Pacey,” Joey said. “I mean it. Thank you.”

They stood quietly for a while until Pacey cleared his throat. “And this Potter is not a marsh. Where is your artist’s eye?”

“Must have been blinded after looking at your gruesome face all afternoon.”

“Hilarious,” he replied, ignoring her jibe. “This is the field which DiVinci dreamed of.”

“Is it?” Joey laughed.

Pacey nodded enthusiastically, his energy was contagious and she smiled along with him. “I thought you’d like to come here since you like…since you paint I mean. Gretchen painted watercolors for a bit and she would come up here to get the flowers.”

She looked at the field again, noticing the swirls of purples, greens, and blues punctuated by the kaleidoscope of butterflies. It was beautiful. “And what will you do? You’ll watch me paint?”

He pretended to consider it. “Not today. While you hone your talents, I’ll hone mine.”

He reached into the sack once more and took out a blanket and two small pillows, obviously nicked from the Witter drawing-room. “I’m going to have a nap.”

“ _Floreat Etona_ , Pacey,” she said.

He walked towards a flat, grassy spot, spread the blanket, and settled himself atop of a pillow. “I hated that bloody school.”

Joey carefully lowered herself onto the blanket beside him, positioning the box in her lap. “As I recall the feeling was mutual.”

“Pity they didn’t let girls in,” Pacey turned to lay on his back, watching the clouds dotting the bright blue sky. “You would have been a model pupil.”

“Do you think so?” Joey asked, preening in delight.

“Definitely,” he watched her under shuttered lashes. “A bossy know-it-all like yourself would have been voted school captain a hundred times over.”

“Sod off, Pacey,” she retorted, pulling a clean sheet of paper from the box. She hardly noticed that she was smiling when she said it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last Dawson tantrum, I swear.
> 
> This chapter is a bit longer because I really wanted to include a little Joey and Pacey interaction.
> 
> Floreat Etona is the Eton school motto. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and your comments and kudos so far. I'm truly grateful!


	8. The End of Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pacey and Joey go on their first unchaperoned adventure. What could possibly go wrong?

What started out as a truly lovely and balmy September day had quickly deteriorated into a hazy, misty afternoon. Naturally, as most summer evenings had the tendency to do in England, heavy grey clouds had eventually clustered overhead, bringing with them a damp, chilly breeze. 

Joey wrapped her arms around her frame, shivering. To her left were several pastel sketches weighed down by the wooden artist’s box. She’d finally stopped her sketching just a few moments before, ultimately surprised by the number of drawings she’d done. It was rare to have had an entire afternoon to herself for her own pursuits. It had been a lovely distraction but now that she’d stopped sketching, her muddied thoughts caught up. 

At first, she’d been self-conscious about drawing near Pacey, worried that he would laugh or make asinine comments as he was fond of doing. To her surprise, he hadn’t paid her any attention. Instead, he’d propped himself up on a throne of pillows like a sultan and promptly fallen asleep. 

Happy as she was by his silence, Joey was ashamed to say that she’d peered at Pacey’s sleeping form on more than one occasion. At first it had embarrassed her, like a child stealing sweetmeats. But after realising that no-one could catch her (they were in the middle of a deserted marsh after all) she grew bolder, staring for what felt like minutes.

It was an odd sensation to watch Pacey, whose face she realized she knew well. She wasn’t sure why that was so surprising to her. They’d grown up together, although for years she’d despised the fact. Now? Now, she wasn’t so sure how to feel. 

Pacey, for the first time, had shown her genuine kindness, and although she knew it resulted from guilt and pity, she appreciated it all the same. It was no small feat that he had offered — being tied to her for the next two years. The ludicrous concept was so unimaginable that she still didn’t know how to feel about it. All she felt was foolish that she’d allowed herself to get into this position. There was something else, too. Another feeling pooling at the base of her navel that she wasn’t familiar with, but knew, likely had nothing to do with regret or appreciation. 

Another sharp gust of wind snapped Joey from her reverie. This one carried the unmistakably earthy scent of rain. They’d have to leave now or else risk being caught in the downpour. 

Joey turned to gather her drawings and the artist’s box, but a white shape bobbing further along in the water beside them caught her eye. Her stomach plummeted. 

“Pacey!” Joey snapped.

Her companion snored on. He would not be allowed to ignore Joey. She crawled to his slumbering form and tugged at his arm. When that too failed to wake him, she aimed a painful punch at his shoulder.

* * *

“What! What?” Pacey jolted upright with a start. Instantly, he recognised the pain to his arm. His eyes narrowed at Joey, who was crouched beside him. “Why did you hit me?”

Joey scowled in response. She pointed toward a distant shape floating peacefully away in the opposite direction. “Pacey, please tell me you tethered the boat and the one floating out to sea isn’t ours!”

Pacey spun around, scrambling to his feet, fully awake now. He ran towards the bank, but thought better of it after a few steps. It was already too far out. He cleared his throat, meeting Joey’s glare with startling sincerity. “I tethered the boat, and the one… erm… floating out to sea isn’t ours,” he finished with a sheepish grin.

“I could kill you,” Joey growled as she stood. Pacey, who recognized quickly the threat was quite valid, backed away with his arms outstretched as she advanced. 

“Honestly, Pacey?” But Joey ran right past him, trying to keep the craft in her sight. “I thought you were joining the Navy!”

Pacey, at least, had the decency to look embarrassed. If she’d bothered to look at him, she would have seen the tips of his ears turn bright red. After all, his prowess as a sailor was one of the few things he could brag about. “I won’t be securing the boats in the Navy, I’ll be captaining them,” he explained as he ran after her.

“Oh, the French must be trembling in their boots,” Joey snapped, but she had stopped running. Her brow was furrowed, as though a solution had finally come to her. Pacey wondered if she’d finally given up.

He was about to ask the same when Joey bent and untied her boots. 

“What are you doing?” He asked stupidly.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Potter,” he started as understanding dawned on him. “You cannot swim back home.”

“Pacey,” her tone was patient as she untied the other boot. “This stream can only be a yard deep, we swam in it all the time when we were children.”

The memory was fuzzy, but he recalled triumphantly throwing her into a muddy section of the grass as children while Dawson scolded him. A clearer recollection was her decking him across the jaw for his trouble. Some things never changed.

“Anyway,” she continued mulishly. “I am not swimming back home, I am swimming to the boat.” 

As if that were any better. Pacey had a thousand arguments against her scheme, primarily the poor weather, leeches, the threat of consumption, and not to mention the sheer impossibility of her being able to hoist herself and a sodden dress into a flimsy rowboat without the entire thing capsizing. However, all thoughts vanished at the first sight of Potter’s creamy calves. He swallowed thickly. She was removing her stockings.

“In case you’ve forgotten, the only way home is through this stream,” she prattled on. “We have to get the boat.” Noticing his silence, she turned to him with daggers in her eyes. “Turn around, you pervert!” 

“L-Look Potter,” Pacey stammered, obediently making an about-turn. “I truly hate to impede on your women’s liberation moment, but the Leerys would hang me up if you drowned while we were out here.”

“What do you mean if I drown? You’re coming with me.”

Pacey balked, turning his head in her direction before her icy glare forced it back. “Why do I have to…”

“Because you didn’t tie the bloody boat!”

His mouth snapped shut. Well, she had a point. “All right, fine,” Pacey sighed, already bending down and tugging off his own boots. He caught her eye as he removed his coat.

“Turn around,” he mimicked her matronly tone. She rolled her eyes but obeyed.

“As if anyone wants to see your bits and bobs,” Pacey heard her mumble. 

“I’ll have you know, Potter, that there are many women who would give up their very limbs to see my bits and bobs,” he retorted as he shrugged out of his shirt. 

“You’re such a deluded man,” Joey snorted, but for all her bravado, he noticed she couldn’t meet his eyes.

His spirit buoyed by the realization. Potter was nervous. Although to be fair, he couldn’t quite muster up the courage to meet her gaze either. Especially when he realised that to solve the actual problem of the waterlogged dress, she’d stripped down to her chemise and petticoats.

They stood awkwardly for what had to be a half a minute, each staring at the greenery and the greying sky with the most devout interest. 

“Well…” Joey pressed finally, using her arms to show the path towards the water.

“Well, what?” Pacey asked. “This is your bright idea.”

Joey frowned. “Who else knows we’re here?”

Well, no one. As was his custom, he’d snuck out of the house like a thief, and with any luck he would sneak back in the same way. 

Pacey’s blank stare must have told her everything she needed to know. “Fine, I’ll go first,” she stubbornly jutted out her chin and walked towards the murky water, as though tenacity could repel leeches. 

“Potter, wait,” Pacey grabbed her arm, felt her skin warm under his fingertips and released her as though she had burned him. To the surprise of his own ears, he heard himself say, “I’ll go in and get the boat and bring it back here.”

Joey frowned at him. He hadn’t known what to expect, but certainly gratitude was the typical response to chivalry. “How do I know you won’t just head back home and leave me here?” Joey asked.

Pacey’s mouth dropped open. “Why would you think I would do something like that?” But he knew the answer. It was because less than a week ago, it was definitely something he would have considered, for a lark at least. The distrust in her eyes made his stomach knot, and he couldn’t even blame her. Dawson had been her hero for all these years. Dawson, not him. His mood soured.

“I’m coming with you,” Joey said firmly.

Pacey was too cold and agitated to argue further. Besides, being so close to Potter, with her infuriating flowery smell, made the prospect of an ice cold dip not only appealing, but a necessity.

He ventured into the water first, tentatively placing one foot in front of the other atop the slippery, mossy stones, trying to find the safest path. He couldn’t let Potter break her stubborn neck, after all. He’d gotten a good few yards in, before a loud splash behind him showed Joey had ignored his instructions and wade out on her own.

He watched as she strode purposefully through the water. Her sodden skirts clung to her legs and in afternoon light, he could nearly see — well, too much.

“Hurry!” Joey turned and hollered, and then without waiting on his response, resumed her trek. 

Damn infuriating woman. Pacey grumbled, but knew he had no choice but to follow suit. It was a matter of masculine pride now, and these rapid turns of events had wounded his pride quite enough since last night.

The water grew colder the further he walked, soon it felt as though thousands of small knives were piercing his skin. It was only September, but the creek was always icy cold, even on the warmest day in July. His own flimsy undershirt and trousers did nothing to protect him from the barrage of icy water, which now reached his waist. 

Mercifully, they found the boat quickly, but the journey had been exhausting. They were both gasping for breath, struggling to keep warm. Despite her obvious exhaustion, Joey was trying, unsuccessfully, to climb aboard. 

“I’ll push you up,” Pacey said, edging closer to her.

Joey immediately took a few steps back. “No,” she said, wide-eyed and flushed. “I can do it.”

“No, you can’t,” he replied.

“Pacey, don’t argue with me,” Joey snapped. “I don’t want to freeze to death fighting with you.”

Pacey frowned at her. “So you would rather drown trying to get into this boat on your own?”

“If those are my choices, then yes.” Joey continued.

Without another word, Pacey pulled her closer, scooped her up and deposited her neatly inside the rowboat, all while ignoring her loud, disgruntled objections. 

It was far less graceful to hoist himself inside. That process took several grabs and grunts, and finally, Joey held onto his arms to help pull him up. 

His grip gave way on the way up, as did Joey’s footing, and they both collapsed in a heap of soaked limbs with him atop of her. As he watched her, Joey looked at him with wide brown eyes, clearly paralysed.

Pacey swallowed loudly, staring down at her. He was so close that he could hear the rapid thud of her heart — or maybe that was his. It occurred to him he should move, but he remained immobilised, fascinated by the goose-pimples forming along her arms. 

In the ever darkening sky behind them, thunder roared. 

“Well, that wasn’t so terrible,” he managed in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. He forced himself to look at Joey’s face. He knew her chemise was practically transparent and didn’t want to get throttled for looking anywhere south of her collarbones. 

Joey looked at him strangely, and he swore he could see the moment the thoughts entered her mind. “Why did you agree to this, Pacey?” She whispered. 

Another shout of thunder rumbled in the distance, and if on cue, the first raindrops pelted down around them. 

He didn’t need to ask for clarity. He knew what this was. This was, of course, their situation. This was the entire charade. 

He moved from atop of her, seating himself uncomfortably beside the oars. “It was the right thing to do,” he said. It wasn’t a lie. He wouldn’t have dreamed of abandoning her to the wolves, especially because of something that wasn’t her fault. 

“You don’t even like me,” she said. It sounded like an accusation. 

Pacey bristled, that wasn’t exactly true, but he suspected a denial would make her feel worse. “You don’t like me,” he echoed. 

Joey sat up. Although she faced him, her eyes looked right through him. “We fight all the time.”

They did. They couldn’t go five minutes without arguing. “That’s because you’re very stubborn.”

“I’m stubborn?” Joey’s eyes sharpened. “What about you?”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Pacey said over the noise of the rain. “Honestly Potter, do we have to do this right now?”

“Yes!” Joey snapped. “This is important!”

“Look, I’m just…” Pacey stumbled over the next few words in his head. “I’m just trying to fix this.”

Joey chewed on her lower lip. Her eyes fell to her lap and stayed there. “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me, Pacey.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” he said after a moment. He didn’t know what he felt, but it wasn’t pity. He had been thinking about it, if he was honest, and came to decide that what he felt was a sort of protectiveness. Yes, that was it. Just like what he would feel if someone had done harm to one of his sisters. “Besides, this arrangement works for me too. It helps my reputation.”

Joey slowly met his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Well, being engaged to a beautiful, smart woman like you would do wonders for me.” Pacey placed the oars in their slots and began rowing back to their belongings. “It helps me to clean up my act, you know, after the whole Mrs. Jacobs issue. And after you throw me over, well, I’ll be up to my ears in older women begging to comfort me. Another plus.”

“Pacey, that doesn’t make sense,” Joey stammered. He saw she was blushing. 

"You clearly do not know the depth of my tarnished reputation,” Pacey said firmly. “So if you really think about it. You’d be doing me a favour.”

Joey looked at him skeptically. “How are we going to pretend for two years? We’re always arguing. Don’t you think people would notice?”

“You’re half-Irish and God knows what circle of hell my family originated from. We’ll say that we are passionate.” Pacey shrugged. 

“What about …”

“Dawson?” Pacey finished. He’d been waiting for this. “Well, I don’t have an argument for that one. That’s your decision to make.”

Joey grew silent, miserably chewing on her bottom lip. “Do you ever wish that you could go back in time?”

“Sometimes,” Pacey replied, but didn’t mention that this wasn’t one of those times. The rain had let up, just as they neared the soft grassy bank. “But,” he continued softly, “I know that wishing fixes nothing.”

Joey watched him under shuttered lashes. Her face was pale and her cheeks pink. Her dark hair looked slick and wonderful. Pacey realised that he wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to grab her and taste her rain rinsed lips and run his hands along her face until the worried look disappeared. It was a terrifying feeling. He reminded himself that Joey’s dreamy eyes clearly were thinking about their friend, and not him, but the feeling didn’t subside. 

Pushing those feelings into his gut, Pacey tried to grin at her. “Well? What do you say? Will you accept my fake proposal?”

Joey shook her head. “This is a terrible idea, Pacey.”

“I didn’t say it was a good idea,” Pacey said. “I asked if you would do it.”

“Well, if it will save your terrible reputation. I suppose I would be heartless to refuse.” She smiled at him, a small, genuine twist of her lips that made his chest warm. 

“You’re too kind, Potter,” Pacey smiled widely. For some very foolish reason, he felt as though he’d been named Prime Minister. He placed the oars inside the boat and grabbed a length of rope from under his seat. As they neared the bank, he made a knot around the small hook at the front, intending to tether the boat properly this time. “You’ll see, I’ll be the best fake fiancé you’ve never wanted.”

“Let’s hope you’ll be the only one I’ll ever have.”

Pacey laughed as he exited the boat. “Cheer up, Potter. It may be better than you think. You never know, you and I might even become friends.”

Joey sighed heavily but followed him out of the boat. “Pacey, please. I’m upset enough as it is.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I am ashamed to say that I had the first version of this chapter sitting on my desktop for months. What can I say, the 2020s got me bad and I wasn't in the mood for writing at all. But in honour of Dawson's Creek being back on Netflix and a hormonal binge of Bridgerton, I did manage to finish this. 
> 
> I've also been in full 1999 mode by listening to Sarah McLachlan and Vertical Horizon on a loop for two days. But hey, whatever works.
> 
> This chapter was supposed to have some making out but I decided to keep my slow burn promised and let this burn and burn and burn. 
> 
> Thank you all for your kind messages and comments and for taking a chance and reading this random AU Dawson's Creek story in 2020. Love you 3000.


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